#except witch hood fic

[aparticularbandit]

Current Counts for WIP Prompts:

gtds: 4

thrall: 3

aislin: 3

inklings: 3

This is actually a pretty even spread WOW.

[hobicakess]

ROYAL TREATMENT | KNJ

summary: Despite your arranged marriage you are coming to love Emperor Kim Namjoon and you surely do hope he's falling just as hard. Though in times like this you wished you never came to the Korean court, but Kim Namjoon sure does have a way with words and his coc-

rating: 18+ (I'm not your mother you're in control of what you consume)

pairings: Emperor!Kim Namjoon x Empress Reader

warnings: porn with a pretty plot , husband Namjoon, unedited, arranged marriage to lovers , period typical misogyny / ideals / themes , slight angst, minor violence , MC shakes the table , talks of having children, reader has a 'not like other girls moment' sorry , smug namjoon 'i want to eat his face' SMUT, Namjoon a emperor and a Dj? , clit pinching, fingering , nipple play, breeding kink no no no , very tame choking, big body tanned namjoon im seeing a pattern in all my namjoon fics.. love confessions, p in v, Namjoon loves his wife and MC loves her hubby 🫶🏼

authors note: Howdy hotties! this is my official apology for all the times i said i was going to update but i don't lol. this has actually been in my docs for a year… don't jump me pls have mercy!!! this is heavily inspired by Bridgerton and The great because i love a good hood jam!! anyway, hope you enjoy it and if you're new to my blog check out my other works xxx

Since you've come to the Korean court to marry Kim Namjoon, he has been nothing but a gentleman.

Taking his time to get to know you as a person never forcing you to do anything you didn't want to do. You rejoiced that he didn’t take you on your wedding night instead holding you until you fell asleep in his warm arms. In your months of getting to know Namjoon you were coming to love the emperor and you hoped that he was falling just as hard. Though as of right now in this moment you wished you'd never come to this court.

Never married, never taken the time to know and love the royal that is your husband.

The Ladies of the court made you want to disappear. They were gossiping geese who didn't even read, they didn't know anything actually, only thinking of the latest hats from France or Russia. 

Aara was the leader of the flock and from what your handmaids had spilled– Aara and Namjoon used to have nightly affairs together before the two of you were married. You guess that's why she was so uppity and spiteful because she's bedded him, and you have yet too.

 “When will you and the emperor have children?” Aara asked, raising her glass teacup up to her thin lips.

“I am not ready for children nor is he''  

You and the emperor haven't even committed the act to conceive children, but she was the last person you'd tell this information to.

“When me and the emperor were intimate, he always said he'd put a baby in me. He's very vocal during lovemaking. That is too bad empress" all her geese cackle like witches while you sat in embarrassment. 

Your jaw tightened, fingertips starting to shake as you blew out a loud breath attempting to calm yourself down. You didn’t want to act out due to the fact the court saw you as a cruel person all because you were a foreigner who looked nothing like any of the ladies in Korea. Apparently, half the court believed you were the spawn of Satan or a witch, some rumors spread that you weren't even of noble blood.

All they needed was one good excuse to try and have you dethroned as empress and executed, but you couldn’t just allow her to walk all over you and talk to you in any kind of way anymore. You were still her superior. Standing from your chair everyone except Aara followed. 

Smoothing out your dress, you wait for her to move. Mockingly she looked around before she stood. “Oh, please forgive me for your grace. I did not notice you-"

The loud sound of the back of your hand making contact with her face echoed throughout the room. The music stopped playing and everyone went completely still and silent. Her geese tried to help her off the ground, but you raised a hand halting them to stop.  

“Aara. Ever since I stepped foot in this palace you have treated me with the utmost disrespect. I have spared you multiple times from my wrath because I am the empress and it’s simply not lady like” watching in satisfaction as her face reddens. 

“I do not care about your past relations with my emperor because at the end of the day. You were his whore, and I am his wife.” 

“I will bring him success; you will bring him disgrace and illegitimate bastards who will never run this country. Disrespect me again and you will be thrown into the slums and forced to work in the fields” Nodding at the ladies you walked out double doors with a newfound confidence.

A Few Days Later

“SHE'S SAID WHAT?”  you court maids' wince at the sound of your voice bouncing off the walls of your bathing room.

“Please do not be an angry empress.” Se-eun tried to reason by lightly pushing your shoulders back down into the milky lukewarm water.

“It is only a silly rumor.” Ye-Eun reassured you with a smile. 

You settle your back onto the stone behind allowing Sumin to softly brush through your thick coils. While Yoon, Isa, and Si-Eun looked for fragrances to add to the water. The girls have been your only friends since you’ve stepped foot into the castle. Sighing you let yourself relax just a little bit “What if the emperor hears of this? Surely, he’s heard that I striked her only days ago” 

“Yes, I’ve heard.” your emperor's deep voice echoed throughout the bath hall. Your Handmaid's scramble to bow but he simply raised his hand towards them “You’re dismissed.”

The girls bow toward you rushing off, now it was just you and your husband alone, and you were naked, but he couldn’t see your body through the creamy water. He walked towards you slowly moving into the spot behind you. 

“I apologize for interrupting your bathing time, but I have been busy, and this seems to be the only place we can be left alone.” 

“Of course, I understand my lord” you hum when you feel him brush through your hair. “I was gone from the palace for only six days' and yet you've already caused trouble.” He snorted, placing the brush down to lean on the tub's cold stone railing. “May I come in with you?”

You swallow hard, breathing heavily, nodding your head. You watched him wide eyed stand to his feet and start to unbutton his dress shirt showing off his golden chest, thick and toned. When he began to remove his pants you turned your head away placing your hands to your bare chest feeling your heart beating rapidly.

He stepped in leaning on the other side of the wall, “I've heard of you striking Aara, the whole noble country has” you sigh, sinking deeper in the water.

“You did well holding your own. I know she can be a.. nuisance.” he blew out a breath, thick arms stretching out to lean back on the marble. 

“Because you used to fuck her no?” The emperor sputters, eyes widening at your word.  “I have to get used to your vulgarness.” 

You hummed feeling a creeping pettiness enter your body. "Just like I have to get used to your whores." 

He stared at you with a playful glint in his eyes, "Are you jealous wife?" 

 You huff standing angrily, water dripping off your naked body, biting his lip tight, the pit of his stomach twisting in arousal as he stared at every curve and dip of your body.  “I am not a commoner; I do not get jealous.”

He swallowed trying to find the right words but she they’re not leaving his lips. You continue on your angry rant as you leave the tub grabbing your own towel. “I came here all the way from ten buck two, married a man whom I have never met, and everyone has failed to inform me on how to deal with having a husband who likes to share his seed with women who will never-”

You squeaked as a strong arm wrapped around your body. Your bare back was pressed onto a wet chest and the warmth of his breath on your neck gave you goosebumps as you shiver. “Let… me go Namjoon.”

He hummed as his hand roamed your stomach embarrassedly kneading the doughy flesh. “You won't even let me say how proud I am? My empress, my wife who speaks her mind and lets her power over her subjects be known.”

You felt hot all over as his other hand softly wrapped around your neck then trails lower and lower to your center. “I wish I was there to see it” he pressed himself into your back and you felt it. 

He was thick , and hot against your back as he groaned. “Tell me to stop and I will .. tell me please.” In front of you both there was a large mirror where you two stared at each other. He took your silence as a go to continue his touches on your body. He turned your head to him, pressing his lips to yours.

Roughly the two of you kisses tongues dancing over one anothers as his hands groped your breast, and nipples. When you both felt dizzy you part with a string of spit as you both panted. He smiled lazily  brown eyes hazy as he partied your sticky thighs with his large hand. Finger swiping the essence that drips from your core. 

“You squeal embarrassed, closing your eyes as he runs his finger effortlessly through your slippery folds, then taunting your clit. He effortlessly slipped his thick cock in between your folds, his hand gripping your hips tightly as he held your jaw in his other hand. He thrusts his hips into your pelvis smacking against your ass, your wetness coating his cock while he wildly fucked your thighs. 

“Do you know how tempting you are?” He grunts in your ear while you gasp and wither under his touch. “I must hold myself back every night from pinning you down and fucking you worth an inch of your life.”

Your stomach began to twist from the pressure of his thumb stroking your clit in rough circles, “Joon-” 

“There you go cum for me” You gasp, thighs quivering, feeling your knees wobble but he holds you up, thrusting quicker between your thighs. you fall apart in his hold shivering and gushing over him. 

He pulls his cock from between your thighs hand wrapped around himself as he uses your essence to jerk his red and leaking tip. He cums with a deep groan, white ropes landing onto your ass. Namjoon's head falls onto your shoulder breathing you in.

“Lets clean up, hm?” 

nodding weakly you allow him to bring you back into the now cool water of your bath. He cleans you without a peep only letting out soft deep rumbles 

When the cleaning is done, he brings you to your shared bedroom that is connected to the bathing room laying you softly onto the soft fabric of your bed. You watch him busy himself grabbing the oils, and lotions you always applied after bathing. His hands started from your left foot rubbing you lovingly. The aching between your legs starts again, too aware of how close his hands were to your cunt as he makes his way use to the crease of your thighs. “I do not fornicate with. . . horses.”

Wow what a way to set the mood.

Namjoon chokes on his spit, a deep laugher bubbling from the depths of his chest.

[pedrito-friskito]

// track 9 - the prophecy //

-> can I write a fic about din djarin without piling on the exposition? absolutely not. also bonus, this is my submission/entry/funtime for @prolix-yuy’s #bangathon2024! the wheel bestowed upon me the placid embrace, and I embraced the HELL out of it. fair warning this is unedited, I’m squeaking under the bangathon deadline here, but I had an idea and I ran with it! hope y’all enjoy 🤍

word count: 8.4k

warnings: canon-typical violence (a bit bloodier), possibly slightly OOC din djarin, descriptions of female body, unprotected p-in-v (wrap your shit in space too ok), din has a lot of feelings and has zero idea what they mean, the helmet comes off, reader is a seer/has visions, still not sure if I love the ending but here goes nothing!

He just can’t seem to catch a break.

“I don’t have the parts,” the smith is telling him, looking at Din’s broken vambrace with a pinched brow. “I can order ‘em in, but it’ll take a day or so to get ‘em here, another day or two to fix it. You gonna be here in four days?”

He takes the hunk of metal back, sliding his hand through the opening with a shake of his helmet, securing it back around his wrist. “Thank you for your time.”

The market is bustling with people. He can’t remember how long it’s been since he was on Batuu, but Black Spire Outpost is the same as it was the last time he touched the Crest down for repairs and refuelling. Except this time, there’s a tracking fob at his hip, a puck detailing his current bounty tucked into one of the pockets on his belt. The fob has been beeping slowly since he disembarked at the port, reluctantly paying the obscene amount of credits it cost to leave his ship for a day.

Not that it matters — the amount he’ll make on this job more than covers it. Two times over and then some. Once he delivers, he can go back to Nevarro, get his armour fixed, and onto the next one. The cycle continues, such is the life of a bounty hunter.

It’s not the life he would have picked for himself, he muses as he makes his way through the Outpost. But then, he wonders how many people in this galaxy have the lives they would have chosen, given the chance. Even the one he’s hunting.

Especially the one he’s hunting.

Din had been half-listening to Karga’s regular spiel about the bounty, but his ears perked up at the number of credits waiting for him at the finish line. “The ones who ordered the bounty, what planet are they from?”

“Savareen,” Karga had replied with a slight shudder. “Some backwater place on the Kessel Run. Don’t know how this coven got their hands on enough credits for something like this, but I know better than to ask questions. And the bounty isn’t on Savareen. She escaped and made it to Batuu somehow; I’m fuzzy on the details. All I know is the intel we have has her there still, and she killed both the fighters the witches sent after her. Feisty thing.”

“They didn’t give you anything else?”

“Only that she’s very valuable and they need her back before the next full moon.”

He’d slid the bounty puck across the table to Din then, the hologram flickering to life as he did. The face before him was too young, too innocent. You’d killed two fighters? Looking at you, Din wondered if you knew which end of the blaster to hold. But he held his tongue; he’d judged other bounties too quickly in the past, and had the scars to prove it.

Continuing through Black Spire, Din keeps his head down, but his eyes peeled. The fob is still beeping slowly, but as he turns down an alley, away from the busy market, the noise picks up. He keeps going, coming to a stop ahead of a small group of people. He lingers back, not making himself obvious as he observes. 

An elderly man with a thick beard stares up at the sky, murmuring under his breath while two younger people seem to hang on his every word, holding his arms up for him. More people sit on the ground before the man, all staring at him intently.

The cloaked figure hanging at the edge of the group, hood obscuring their face, catches his attention. Their stance is tight, nervous, feet shuffling in the dirt with every word the elderly man says. To an untrained eye, they would look no different than Din himself, observing the group, lingering at the edge. But Din knows better.

The figure takes off as he takes a single step forward, hand resting on his blaster. In a flutter of dark fabric, he takes off after them, dodging the enthralled people on the ground, careful not to knock anyone over as he darts up the alleyway.

The fob is beeping rapidly now, quickening with every inch he gains on the cloaked figure, on you.

He grunts beneath his helmet, arms pumping as he runs, legs burning with exertion. He can’t remember the last time he sprinted after a bounty.

You’re relentless, taking hard lefts and rights any chance you get, but your scared movements are predictable, and Din finds it too easy to follow you, despite his racing heart and the sweat gathering on the back of his neck beneath his helmet. But your constant turning leads the chase back into the heart of the Outpost, and you’re moving too fast to stop from sliding into the large cart that pulls out suddenly into your path.

Din winces at the crash, your body crumpling to the ground and the cart’s contents pouring over your head. The merchant pushing the cart tries to help you up, but Din is quicker, hiding his heaving chest by straightening his shoulders, grabbing you by the arm and hauling you up.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you,” the merchant starts, and Din lifts a hand, silencing him as he pulls a set of cuffs from his belt and slaps one around your wrist. You don’t fight him, surprisingly, offering your other wrist for him to clasp the cuff around. He’s grateful you can’t see his expression, the mix of confusion and surprise that has his brows shooting up beneath the helmet.

Strange.

He flicks the merchant a credit. “Did half the job for me,” he says, and grabs you by the shoulder, maneuvering around the stalled cart and back in the direction of the Razor Crest.

You don’t protest, keeping pace beside him, the corner of your mouth twitching as you walk. “You took longer than I thought you would, Mandalorian.”

+

The visions started when you were small.

They’ve always been a part of you, long as you can remember, and before you knew their true purpose, you thought them dreams, blips of darkness that occasionally came to call, taking you over and leaving you with knowledge that, most of the time, you didn’t want.

You were only seven when your family gave you to the coven. Your parents — scared of you, scared of the truths that spilled from your lips, truths you had no right knowing — sent you off without a second thought, assured by the coven’s leader that they would do right by you, that you’d grow to control your gifts, and could someday return home to Naboo a different girl. 

But the control never came. The visions only grew more sporadic when you were under the coven’s care. They cared for you, that much was true — they fed and clothed you, gave you a roof over your head, a bed to sleep in. Someone watched you constantly, and anytime a vision struck, you were to immediately relay what you saw, provide as many details as you could, and on life would go.

Twenty years later, and still your control has not surfaced. But something changed.

The visions showed you the truth. You don’t know what gods are watching over you, if the Maker has any hand in it, but you know what you saw.

From the moment you had been handed over to the coven’s care, they had been poisoning you. Your drinking water sullied with a rare toxin from plants only native to Savareen. The toxin blocked out any control you might have over the visions, leaving you at their mercy. And you weren’t the first — they’d done it to a hundred seers before you. You just happened to have lasted the longest.

Anything you saw that was of use, names you couldn’t make sense of or planets you’d never been to, was cross-referenced across the coven’s expansive database of knowledge, created by the seers’ visions. And anything of true import was fed directly to the Empire. 

And if you revealed what you knew, the truth of their game unraveled, they’d sacrifice you in the name of their god, as they had with every seer come before you.

When the vision finally released you, your warden of the day ready to record what you’d seen, you spat out a lie. A pretty one, with as much detail as you could muster that wouldn’t sound suspicious. The lakes on Naboo you once swam in, cool water warmed by the sun, the glint of sunlight off metal. A dream you’d had many times. Your warden seemed to believe it, scribbling away in a journal before sending you on your way. 

It was obvious, what needed to be done. If you wanted to live, you needed to leave.

Easier said than done, unfortunately. The coven lived in a commune deep in the Savareen forests. Far from any marketplaces or spaceports. You would be travelling for days just to get away from them, and days longer until you came upon anything of use.

So it became a process — quietly gathering what supplies you could, explaining it away when your warden questioned you, sneaking around in the night while the coven slept. The first time an opportunity presented itself, you grabbed your things and ran, ducking away under the cover of dark.

More than a week, you walked. You rationed the food you’d taken, slept on the hard ground with a knife in your hand. You only slept a few hours at a time, forcing yourself to your feet and travelling another few hours before allowing yourself more rest. The further you got, the better.

You drank only fresh water from the streams, boiled over a fire to make it safe, and as you travelled, something akin to control settled over you like a blanket. The visions still surfaced, peeling away the edges of your mind, but they were easier to push back, easier to hold at bay until you had a moment to entertain them, to watch with a keen eye rather than a startled one.

You saw him on your fifth night. Stopped at the edge of the forest, the desert spread out before you, you rested. The coven elders rarely let anyone past the commune’s borders, though you knew they’d send someone after you. But that night, your visions promised peace, a good night’s sleep beside your small fire, the blanket of stars and moons above you standing vigil.

So you let the vision take over. You saw a helmeted man, his armour having seen better days. Your mind recalled the style of the armour, a holo-pads the coven used to educate you about the galaxy as you grew — or to make your visions more potent, you wondered now.

A Mandalorian.

A torn cloak fluttered behind him, a rifle strapped to his back. As you watched, he held out one gloved hand to you, the other lifting his helmet just enough to expose his mouth — unfairly full lips and a patchy beard. His name whispered on the wind, a voice that sounded like your own.

Din Djarin.

He stepped toward you, hand still outstretched, closer and closer until the warmth of his palm cupped your cheek, his thumb swiping your cheek.

“Safe,” he whispered, the word sinking into your chest with a warmth you couldn’t quite understand.

And then the vision faded. You came back to yourself, to your small fire and your blanket of stars, and without another thought, you slept. 

The moment you reached the spaceport — if you could even call it that — you snuck onto the first cargo ship you spotted, tucked yourself in with the crates and hid the best you could. It didn’t matter where it was headed, you just needed out.

The cargo ship brought you to Jabiim, and it was safe, for a time. You stole when you needed to, found the odd merchant willing to pay you for a day’s work, sold the few things you’d taken from the coven for credits. You holed up in a boarding house, flexing your control over your visions like training a muscle.

You waited for your Mandalorian to appear.

He didn’t, but two of the coven’s warriors did.

They couldn’t have known the visions had warned you. Couldn’t have known that you’d booby-trapped every inch of your room in the boarding house. They didn’t know you’d seen not only that they’d come for you, but the how and the when, that you knew how you’d keep yourself alive.

It was bloody business, and had you slipping out the back door before morning came, hiding on the next cargo ship that left the spaceport.

And the cycle continued, until you landed yourself on Batuu.

You haven’t been here long. Black Spire is the biggest outpost you’ve ever seen — not that you’ve seen many to compare it to — and it works to your advantage at first, offering a plethora of trails to lose your pursuer. You know it’s him, knew it was him the moment he stepped up to the group of people listening to that old man preaching about the stories in the stars. The tinted armour, each piece damaged in some way, the pristine helmet. The way he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall was familiar to you, and your chest fluttered with the word he’d murmured to you in your vision.

Safe.

Except, you’re anything but. You can hear the beeping, see the way his hand hovers over his blaster. As soon as you see an opening, you take it, and it’s almost enough.

Until that cart comes out of nowhere — you didn’t see that in any vision — and knocks you on your ass. You give your hands over willingly to the Mandalorian when he hauls you to your feet, letting him cuff you, start to drag you off through the Outpost.

You try to suppress the grin that tugs at your lips. “You took longer than I thought you would, Mandalorian.”

He seems to balk at your claim, his shoulders going tight, not that you can see his expression. But you can imagine those full lips clear as day, the patchy beard, the bare spots the perfect size for your thumb to fit into. 

Strength and a certain kind of ferocity seems to roll off of him, pushing every person out of your way as he leads you back toward his ship. Your head throbs with every step, your tongue numb where it got caught between your teeth when the cart hit you. It makes your blanket of control waver, a hole appearing in your armour, and your pulse quickens.

The Mandalorian all but pushes you up the ramp and into his ship. It’s nothing fancy, full of spare parts and rusted metal, but when he steers you toward the back of the ship, you see the carbonite chamber, people of every species encased in black, their expressions pained. Your heart is in your throat, rioting around, making your palms sweat.

“Go,” he tells you, gesturing at the empty platform in front of you, the chamber’s tubes steaming as he flicks a switch.

“P-please,” you manage to squeak out. Your control is gone, replaced with fear and anxiety. You pull against the cuffs, trying to turn your body away from the machine, but it’s too late.

The vision takes over, and everything goes dark.

+

Din catches you before you hit the ground.

In an instant, you shift from every other pleading bounty he’s shoved into the carbonite chamber, into something more. Your eyes roll back in your head, your body going limp, and it’s a miracle he manages to grab you before your head cracks off the metal. But he does it, grunting with the effort, wincing when he feels the jab of your shoulder in the crook of his elbow.

And he freezes.

Something in his chest goes tight, a taut string that has his ribs in a vice. It whispers that he knows you, that he’s seen your face a million times before even though this is the first day he’s ever set eyes on you. Like a part of his heart calls for yours.

It makes him stumble back a step, jostling you, your body leaning more fully into his. He’s enveloped in your warmth, the scent of you sneaking beneath his helmet, tormenting him.

I know you I know you I know you.

His gloved hand shakes as he brushes the hair from your forehead, looking at your face more fully. He studies you, the slope of your nose and the fan of your lashes. He has half a mind to take his gloves off, to feel your hair slip between his knuckles. The blood in the corner of your mouth makes something like panic shoot through him and he slips his other arm behind your knees, lifting you up and off the ground.

It takes some maneuvering, using his elbow to jab the button that lifts the door to his bed. He lays you out carefully, reaching for the medkit he keeps stashed near his pillow. He pushes back the strange feeling, focusing on the task at hand. He’s dealt with his fair share of head injuries, knows how precarious they can be. And he’s figured it out, over time — the best place to put the bacta patches, what mednog helps more than it hinders. 

Din places the last of four patches behind your ear, right along the curve of your neck. You let out a quiet hum, arching your head into his palm, and he inhales deeply.

“I know you,” he murmurs, and doesn’t quite realize he’s said the words out loud until your lashes flutter, eyes shooting open and your body following suit. “Easy,” he commands, grabbing your shoulders, making you flinch. “You’re alright, just don’t move too fast.”

Your breath comes in short bursts, and Din realizes there are tears lining your eyes, one single drop sliding down your cheek. His fingers itch to brush them away, but he resists the urge, releasing you and curling them into fists instead.

Your eyes finally land on him, and the corner of your mouth twitches, like it had in the Outpost.

“Who are you?” he asks. You know her, his mind counters.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you retort, rubbing a hand across the back of your neck. You must find the bacta patch, because your brow furrows. “You…helped me?”

“Don’t think much of it,” he tells you, bracing his hands on his knees and pushing himself up off the cot. “I’m taking you back to Savareen.”

He sees the fear cover you like a veil, watches it pinch at your eyes and tug at your lips. The feeling rears its head, screaming at him that he’s doing wrong, but he beats it back.

“Please,” you say again, the same squeak you’d let out before you passed out in the carbonite chamber. “Please don’t take me back. They’re going to kill me, they’ll—”

“They’re paying me a ridiculous amount of credits to bring you back,” Din answers, cutting you off and turning his back on you. “And I’m gonna do just that.”

“At least listen to my side of the story,” you call after him. You pause a beat, and then— “Din Djarin.”

He can’t remember the last time he heard his name on a woman’s lips. Hearing it on yours is something else entirely.

His mind is at war with itself as he whirls. “How did you—?”

“Let me tell my side,” you reiterate, holding your hands up, surrendering. “And if you still want to take my back and collect your bounty, fine.”

He doesn’t say a word, but leans back on one foot, crossing his arms over his chest. You take it as a yes, leaning back slightly, straightening your back. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and Din clenches his teeth.

“I’m a seer,” you say slowly, eyes darting everywhere except his helmet. “I have visions. Always have, long as I can remember. I was born on Naboo, but my family gave me over to the Savareen coven when I was seven. They raised me, and it was all well and good until my visions told me the truth.”

You don’t continue right away, eyes finally landing on Din’s visor. “What truth?” he prompts.

“They were poisoning me,” you said, your voice shaking. “And the poison took away my control of the visions. A seer should be able to allow the visions to come when they wish, not be constantly at their mercy. They wanted me to see as much as I could, and everything I saw, the elders ran through their databases. Anything useful they fed to the Empire.”

The mention of the Empire makes him jump.

“And I’m not the first. They’ve done this to a hundred seers before me, and killed them all as soon as they figured out the truth. It’s a cycle, one I played into the moment I escaped. They know that I know the truth, and they’ll kill me for it and tell the rest of the coven that I was a willing sacrifice, for the safety of the rest of them.”

A sad laugh passes your lips, and Din’s chest feels hollow.

“And the worst part is: they’ll all believe them. The people that raised me, my friends, if you can call them that. They’ll believe I died willingly, for the greater good.”

You drop your face into your hands and everything in him begs him to comfort you, hold you, keep you safe.

No good will come of this, the rational part of him says. He could ruin his reputation with the Guild, and where would that leave him? Bounty hunting has always been his trade, his talent. He would go back to the Covert, ashamed.

But the sound of your voice has him quickly grasping for compromise. A final kindness, to please the beast in his chest.

“I’ll give you one thing,” he says, and your head shoots up. “One last…wish, I guess. Before I take you back.”

Din swears there are stars in your eyes. “A wish?”

He nods the helmet slightly. “Name it,” he says, “and don’t say setting you free.”

You think for a moment, a million emotions crossing your face before you seem to make your decision. “Naboo,” you say, your expression calm, almost serene. “Take me back to Naboo. I want to swim in the lake, like I did as a child. One last time, before I die.”

+

You think he’s going to fight you on it. You studied galactic maps with the coven, part of the studies they allowed, and you know just how far it is from Batuu to Naboo — you know it’s about the same distance as Batuu is from Savareen, in the complete opposite direction.

You wait for the no to reach your ears, for the disappointment and acceptance of your lot to settle in. But instead, he just nods again, turns on his heel and disappears from the ship’s hold, leaving you alone, still sitting on the edge of the Mandalorian’s bed.

A moment later, you hear the tell-tale hum of the ship’s engine. Another beat, and his voice sounds through the intercom beside the cot. “Get up here and strap yourself in. Don’t need you getting thrown around down there.”

Swallowing hard, you get to your feet and walking slowly toward the ladder he’d disappeared up. The rungs are cold beneath your hands, a reminder that this isn’t all a dream, or one of your visions.

He doesn’t turn his head when you step into the ship’s cockpit, doesn’t say a word as you settle into the chair in the corner of the space. You fumble with the belt straps, tightening them around you as his gloved hands move across the ship’s dashboard, pressing buttons and turning dials. The engine grows louder as the ship starts to hover, and you brace your hands on the armrests of your seat.

You’re both silent, the entire trip. After the initial jolt through hyperspace, you find the movement relaxing, and you don’t realize you’ve nodded off until you feel a warm hand on your ankle, the Mandalorian having reached for your outstretched foot to nudge you awake.

“The drop out of hyperspace can get a bit rocky around this sector.”

You nod at the warning, ignoring the sharp tug in your stomach at the rumble of his voice through his helmet. Adjusting yourself in the seat, you find yourself staring at the back of his helmet, the curve of the metal. When he turns his head to speak to you, you catch a glimpse of his chin, dipping as he talks.

“Hold on tight.”

The jolt makes you shut your eyes, gripping the armrests as tight as you can. The ship wavers and dips, the hull shaking and groaning with the effort and you bite your lip so hard you taste blood.

“Almost there.”

You don’t open your eyes until the ship has stopped completely, the sound of the engine whirring into shutdown making your breath come easier. When you open them, you’re met with a lush forest, a clearing just large enough for the ship to touch down in.

Naboo.

You’re out of your seat in the flash, nearly tumbling down the ladder back into the hold, desperate to be out and breathing in the fresh air so close you think you could taste it. The Mandalorian follows at a slower pace, reaching around your bouncing form to activate the ramp and open the door.

“Don’t go far,” he tells you, warning lacing his tone. “If you—”

“I won’t leave your sight, Din Djarin,” you tell him, quietly revelling in the way his entire form stills at your use of his name. “I promise, you won’t need to chase after me.”

You leave him to ponder your words, and step out and into the sunlight. 

+

He stands on the Crest’s ramp longer than he should, watching you step out into the clearing. He found a good spot to land, forest wrapping around, a large lake sprawled out before you. The air is warm, fresh, invading his senses.

He watches you take off toward the water, shedding your cloak and top as you go, tossing the fabric aside. The bare expanse of your skin makes his throat go tight, makes the waist of his flight suit feel tighter than normal. As you reach the water’s edge, you crouch to pull off your shoes, straighten to shuck your pants down your legs.

Din only gets a brief glimpse at your bare lower half before you’re sprinting into the water, your laughter loud enough to send birds to the skies, disturbed from their homes in the trees. Beneath the helmet, he smiles.

You swim for hours. Din lets you take your time, your excitement getting the better of him. He tracks your head along the surface of the lake, turns his gaze to the ground when you float on your back. Din calls you back when the sun starts to set, finds something resembling dinner from the crates and boxes in the Crest’s hold. He leaves a blanket at the water’s edge as you swim back, and you eat sitting side by side on the ship’s ramp, your warm body inches from his.

A million questions dance on his tongue, the heat gathering beneath his helmet spurred by the way you lick your fingers clean when you’re done eating, sucking the juice of the fruit he found off your thumb.

How did you know his name?

Why does he feel the way that he does?

Why does he know you?

The sun dips lower, painting the sky a brilliant array of colours, orange into yellow into lavender and back again. The air is still warm, but a cold breeze blows, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

Or maybe it’s the way you rise from your seat, the blanket draped around your shoulders, the way the sun covers you in a glow. He watches you make your way back to the water’s edge, but when you’re halfway there, he stands and follows you.

Din pauses when you reach the shore, the blanket dropping into a puddle of fabric near your clothes. You’re backlit by the sun, a silhouette he wants to trace again and again. “You could join me,” you call over your shoulder, stepping further and further into the water. “The water’s warmer than the air, you know.”

“Helmet takes too long to dry out,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “I—”

“You could take it off,” you tell him, and his blood spikes. He wants to.

He knows you.

Din looks at you, and you meet him eyes through the visor, whether you know it or not. “I’m a Mandalorian,” he answers, “I don’t—”

“I know what you are, Din Djarin,” you answer, and he wants to record the sound of your voice saying his name, play it on a loop over and over until he has it memorized. “But I’ll be dead this time tomorrow.” You wade out further into the water, until it laps against your chin. “The secret of your face dies with me.”

You turn away from him, disappearing beneath the surface and reappearing further out. The sun is nearly gone, the last dregs of the sunset fading from the sky, the stars and planets taking their rightful place. The water still has a certain glow about it, the sounds of frogs and other night creatures filling the silence of the clearing.

Before he can second-guess himself, he hooks his fingers in the edge of the helmet and takes it off.

“Don’t turn around,” he calls out, reaching up to release the clips holding his cloak to his shoulders. It slips to the ground and he leans down to set the helmet atop it. One by one, he sheds each piece of his armour. The chill in the air makes him shiver, goosebumps rising on his skin as he slides down the zipper on his flight suit. He’s acutely aware of his nakedness, his eyes glued to the back of your head, bobbing in the water.

You listen; you don’t turn around.

He can’t stop his sigh when he steps into the water. You weren’t lying — it’s warmer in the water than out, and he steps quickly, feeling the ground slope beneath his feet as the water rises to his knees, his waist, his chest. Then it evens out, and he realizes you’re standing on tiptoe in the middle of the lake, your arms floating at your sides, head tilted back as you stare up at the sky.

“I’ve seen so many things,” you murmur as he comes to a halt behind you, leaving a good few feet between your body and his. If he lets his eyes dip, he can make out your slightly blurred figure beneath the water’s surface, but he keeps his gaze on the crown of your head, your face upturned to the stars. “So many places and people in the furthest corners of the galaxy. Things I’ll never truly see, but I’ve seen them just the same.” You take a deep breath, raising your arms just enough that your hands break the surface of the water. “And yet, I’ve never seen anything as beautiful as the skies on Naboo. I remember swimming in a lake like this, as a child. Before they sent me away. I remember the stars looking just like this.” Your eyes flutter shut. “Thank you, for bringing me here. You’re a good man, Din Djarin. A better one than you allow the galaxy to believe.”

“How did you know my name?” he asks, the words spilling past his tongue before he can stop them. “How do you know my name?”

“I dreamt of you,” you say simply, as if it’s the most normal thing. You push your hands through your wet hair, and Din’s fingers long to copy you. “A long time ago, if we’re telling truths. Your face has come to me often —first when I was small, when we both were. I saw the destruction of your home world, though I didn’t know what I was seeing. I saw you pledge yourself to the Mandalorians, saw you earn your armour in the Covert. I dreamt of you long before I started running for my life. I always knew you’d be the one to find me, Din. The one to save me.”

It’s guilt, he realizes, that pools in his stomach, propels him forward until there’s barely any space between you. Until you’re close enough that he can hear your sharp inhale as he lifts his hand from the water, lets his dripping fingers trail up the curve of your shoulder, follow the curve of your neck to the space behind your ear, where he’d placed the bacta patch earlier. He’s so close he can feel the shiver that runs like a current through your body.

“Close your eyes,” he tells you, his voice a low rumble, “and keep them closed.”

You nod your head slightly, and he waits a beat before letting his fingers hook around your chin, using that leverage to turn you to face him. Your lips part gently, your breath warm on his skin. He drags the pad of his thumb across your lower lip, presses softly as you release another shaky exhale.

Din hasn’t kissed anyone in a long time. Longer than he cares to admit, and nervousness replaces his guilt as he tilts your face toward his. His hand rounds your head, cupping your skull in his palm, and your hair slides like wet silk through his knuckles.

The first kiss he gives you is soft. It’s tentative, your bottom lip captured between his, a quiet sound rising in your throat as he pulls away. Your lashes flutter slightly, but your eyes don’t open, and your hand reaches up, curling around the back off his neck and pulling him back down to you.

He grunts at the second kiss, your body inching closer to his beneath the water. His other hand finds purchase on your hip, digging his fingers into your flesh, and he swallows your groan, leaning deeper into your kiss, tightening his grip on your hair.

You give as much as you take, your free hand flattening against his ribs, your fingers fit in the spaces between his bones. The kiss is so familiar and so new, all at once. He’s done this a million times, and has never once done it before now.

I know you I know you I know you.

Pleasure shoots through him when your teeth scrape at his lip, your tongue darting out to soothe the ache you’ve left behind. It’s a welcome ache, and his hand drops from your hip to your thigh, hooking around the back of your knee and dragging your thigh over his waist. The sound you let out goes straight to his cock and he drops his lips from yours only to close his mouth around your pulse. You lean into him, both hands around his shoulders now, more soft noises of pleasure meeting his ears as he kisses a line up to the shell of your ear.

“When you dreamt of me,” he murmurs, your head leaning into the sound of his voice, “did you dream of all the ways I’d touch you?”

He accompanies his question with his fingers along the inside of your thigh, toward where he can feel you burning hot, your body warmer than the water that surrounds you both. Your lashes flutter again as you moan, digging your nails into his skin hard enough he’s sure you’ll leave little half-moon marks behind.

“This is better than anything I could ever dream up,” you whisper back, using your grip on him to pull your body flush to his. “I knew you’d find me, but I didn’t know you’d want me, that I’d want you.”

He pulls away, heart racing in his chest. Rejection flickers across your face, pinching your brow, but he grabs your hand beneath the water, squeezing. “Come with me.”

Din leads you out of the water, his grip tight on your hand. You still don’t open your eyes, your bottom lip caught between your teeth as he wraps you in the blanket and then leads you back toward the Crest. He brings you inside, back to his bed, and pushes at your shoulder until you’re sat at the edge.

“Don’t move.”

He head back out into the night, the sun now long gone, and collects his armour and your clothes. His body hums with need, leaving his armour on top of a crate, your clothes and his flight suit tossed into the fresher to deal with later. He closes the ramp, locks the door to the hold, and returns to where you’re still sat, the blanket tucked around you.

“Move back,” he tells you, and you obey instantly, letting the blanket fall away as you slide back on the mattress. Electricity shoots through him at the sight of you, the dim light above his bed a meagre replica of the sunset. He can’t stop himself from reaching out, dragging his hand up the centre of your body until he reaches your chest. He cups the weight of your breast in his palm, swipes his thumb over your nipple and revels in the way it peaks at his touch, the way you shiver as he does it again and again.

“Din,” you murmur, and his eyes nearly roll back in his head.

“Say it again.”

“Din.”

He leans over you, plants a hand on either side of your body as you lean back, your head resting on his pillow. Still, you don’t open your eyes.

He kisses you again, angles his head so his nose brushes along yours. You arch up into him as he settles some of his weight against you, making a home between your spread legs. He can feel how wet you are, the heat nearly radiating against his cock, and he can’t stop himself from rutting against you, burying his face in your neck and fitting his mouth to your pulse once more.

“I want to be inside you,” he murmurs, and your nod is nearly frantic.

“Please.”

Din lifts himself off you, leaning back to kneel between your legs. His palms ride the curve of your spread thighs, thumbs swiping at the crease of your hip. It makes your whole body twitch, and he swipes a finger along your cunt, the wetness coating his finger, and your back arches up off the mattress.

He sucks his finger clean. “Sweet,” he whispers, and you let out a soft whine, a whimper.

Hands dragging down your legs again, he curls his fingers around your calves and lifts your legs until your knees are hooked around his hips. He feels your ankles cross at the small of his back and leans forward slightly, taking his hard cock in hand, shuddering at his own touch.

“Open your eyes,” he tells you, hearing the hitch in your breath as he drags his tip through your wetness, “the moment I’m inside you. You understand?”

You don’t answer at first, writing against the blankets, but when he taps his cock lightly against your clit, you shudder. “I understand.”

Dragging down through your folds, he notches his cock at your entrance, pleasure making sparks shoot across his vision as he moves his hips ever so slightly. He reaches beneath you, both hands at your lower back, and lifts your hips off the mattress, holding you aloft as he drives into you.

+

Your eyes shoot open, and you see his face. His whole face.

And Gods above, he’s more handsome than you ever could have imagined.

Every moment since you stepped off the ship has been more than you could have dreamed, but seeing his face, studying those dark eyes as he pushes himself inside you, it’s everything.

His brows knit together as he forces himself deeper. Your body jolts with the movement and you bear down, tightening yourself around him. It makes him tip forward slightly, close enough that you can wrap your arms around his neck, threading your fingers through his dark hair.

The lips you remember, the patchy beard that scratches your skin when he turns his head and places a kiss against your wrist. His nose is different than you pictured, more hawkish with a scar cutting across the bridge. There are other scars too, littered across his chest and shoulders, a few even snaking down his front. You want to trace them all, memorize every ridge and dip.

He gives you a particularly hard thrust, and your vision goes white with pleasure. Your thighs quake with the intensity of it, feeling him drag against that sweet spot deep inside you. You tighten your grip on him, clenching your legs around his waist and keeping him where you want him.

“You feel…” he trails off, his lips parting as his hips roll into you over and over and over again. “I can’t…”

His groan spurs you on, lifting your hips off the mattress to meet his thrusts. The friction between your bodies grows more and more intense, his pelvis rubbing against your clit in a perfect rhythm. You can feel the pleasure growing, coiling at the base of your spine, and when he drops his head to your chest and wraps his lips around your nipple, you’re done for.

Your release rattles through you, seeming to draw Din’s from him. You shudder together, feeling the warmth of him spread through the deepest parts of you. He plants his head on your chest, hot breath fanned across your skin as you both move through it, limbs twitching and soft moans filling the air. He tries to pull himself from you too soon and you whine, refusing to loosen your hold on him.

Eventually, you let him go, instantly regretting your decision when the welcome weight of him moves off of you. He disappears for a time, but returns with a damp cloth from the fresher, and cleans between your legs before letting you move. 

He doesn’t tell you to close your eyes again. You leave to use the fresher and when you return, he’s laid out on the cot, laying slightly to the side so there’s space for you. His eyes lock on yours as you slide into the bed, watching as he lifts the blankets for you and tucks you against his side.

Sleep seems to come easily for Din; you aren’t so lucky.

+

He wakes to an empty bed.

The hum of the night echoes through the hold, and Din scrambles out of bed when he realizes the door is open, that the cool night air is pouring in, and that you’re gone.

A million different possibilities flit through his mind; have you seen what happens? he wonders.

He pulls his underclothes on and finds his blaster, stepping slowly onto the Crest’s ramp. The clearing is the same as you left it, the only difference is the water is now as still as anything, the moon perfectly reflected in the surface.

You’ve left an obvious trail, and he tracks you easily through the forest. It’s a good distance from the ship, and when he finally finds you — and the altar before you — he hides in the brush, listening.

He doesn’t know what gods the carvings in the stone depict, and he wonders if you do, or if you’re just talking to anyone who might be listening.

“It’s not fair,” you say, your voice loud enough that he can hear the waver in it. You sink to your knees before the carvings, your hands dragging on the stone as you stare up at the sky. “I can’t see what comes next now. I don’t know what he’ll choose. I never asked for this!”

Din holds his breath, wondering if the sky might cloud over at your shouting, that thunder might rumble in response to your plea.

“Why lead me to him only to put my fate directly into his hands? Why allow him to bring me to life, only to snuff me out?”

The guilt returns, turning his blood black, making his mouth run dry.

“Is anybody even listening to me? Does anyone even care?”

I care, he nearly shouts in response, but the guilt ties his tongue in knots.

“I don’t want to die!”

Your hands curl into fists, slamming against the stone wall, flattening and your nails dragging along the carvings. Your shoulders shake with sobs, and half of him wants to run to you, the other half wants to disappear.

He returns to the Crest, the guilt crawling up into his chest and making a home there, a rival to the beast that demands he keep you close. They spar between his ribs, demanding to be heard.

Only he can decide which one he’ll listen to.

+

Din is right where you left him, when you return to the ship. Sprawled on his back, his arm outstretched where you’d laid your head. You close the ramp and the door, press the buttons you’d watch him press to lock the ship, and climb carefully back into the bed. Your tears are still wet on your cheeks as you fit yourself against his side. His arm curls around you, holding you closer, and fresh tears fall.

You wake up alone. Your body aches in a good way, your limbs groaning as you find your clothes. The ship hums, and it takes you a moment to realizes you’re moving. Not through hyperspace, just flying.

When you climb into the cockpit, he’s sat in his chair, all his armour back in place. He doesn’t acknowledge as you sink down into the same seat. You force your eyes to move away from his helmet, to the world outside the ship, and your heart feels as though it may shatter in your chest.

Savareen.

It’s good to know, in a way, that Din Djarin is a man of his word. You misjudged him, it’s true, but you can’t fault him. He’s doing his job. He hasn’t seen what you’ve seen.

Maybe not all your visions come true.

The spot where he lands the ship is not one you recognize. You’re far from the coven’s commune, that much you know for sure. As the engine’s hums die out, Din comes and stands before you, the same cuffs he’d used on you on Batuu in his hands.

You give your hands to him willingly. You won’t fight him, if this is your fate.

You don’t know what comes next; you haven’t seen it.

He’s silent as he leads you out of the ship and onto the planet’s surface. The air is that same cloying heat you remember, clinging to your skin and making it crawl.

As you descend the ramp, you see a familiar face — one of the coven’s elders, flanked by two of the same warriors who had come for you on Jabiim. The same man who had come to collect you from your family on Naboo, all those years ago. Who lied to your family and said you’d be in good hands. Who lied to you your entire life, forcing you to be at the mercy of your visions.

Bile rises in your throat as you draw closer, Din’s hand tight on your shoulder, your bound hands limp in front of you. “So good to see you again, my dear,” the elder starts, and everything in you screams at you to run away, but you never get the chance.

And you don’t need to.

As the elder reaches for you, Din draws his blaster and fires a single shot. The man drops to the cracked desert floor, a smoking scorch mark in the middle of his forehead. The warriors lunge forward, drawing their swords, but Din produces another blaster and moves in front of you, his stance protective, both barrels aimed at the warriors.

“Take another step, and you die,” he nearly growls, and your fingers curl around the fabric of his cloak. The warriors’ weapons clatter to the dirt. “Go back to your coven, and give your elders this warning: if they do not stop harming the seers, they will all share the same fate as him. She leaves with me, and if they send anyone after her, they share the same fate as him.”

With a nod, the warriors turn tail, sprinting off into the desert, leaving you alone with your Mandalorian. He turns to you, unlocks the cuffs from around your wrists. Your mind reels, trying to catch up with what’s happened, what it all implies.

“You…”

Din removes his helmet, holds it against his hip as he leans in, two fingers beneath your chin as he leans in to kiss you. You sink into it, elation seeping through your body, cupping his scruffy jaw in your hands, your thumbs fitting into the patches in his beard.

The kiss feels like a promise, like an oath.

“I’ll take you back to Naboo,” he tells you when you break apart only to breathe. “You can go back to your family, back to—”

“What if I want to stay with you?”

The corner of his lips twitch, and you lean in to kiss it. “Then you’ll stay with me.”

+

The moment you step foot back on the Crest, you freeze. Your gaze goes out of focus, your body a lead weight against his. Fear floods Din’s body and he grabs you, worrying you’re going to pass out again, that he didn’t do enough with the bacta, that you’re—

You come back to yourself quickly, blinking hard and gulping down air. “Nevarro,” you tell him, your voice tight. “We need to go to Nevarro, to the Guild.”

“I can’t do that,” he tells you. “I just broke my contract by not delivering you to them. They won’t—”

“Shh,” you hush him, two fingers pressed against his lips. “Listen to me, Din. We need to go to Nevarro. Karga will believe you when you tell him what happened, and he has a new bounty for you. An important one.”

His brows lift. “You had a vision? You saw Karga?”

The corner of your mouth twitches. “I saw much more than Karga,” you reply, your breath slowing. “I saw your son.”

the end

// TTWD track list //

[blingblong55]

Bloom- Simon "Ghost" Riley

Based on a request:

Could you do a fic, simon x witch! reader where the reader is a very powerful witch (like Scarlet witch powerful). Simon gets lost in a forest during a mission after being shot by some blue energy by the enemy team. He doesn't know that the forest is an enchanted one. The reader finds him wounded and with a mysterious energy so she takes him to her sanctum sanctorum in the forest (🙈) and then he has to stay for a few months for the reader to study that energy and then they fall in love.  Thanksss ❤️ ---- F!Reader, witch!au, fluff/romance? ----

You live near a small, calm, beautiful and peaceful river. It is said that this river is special, that if you follow it, you'll find the mythical and wonderful creatures that roam it. From fairies to soft fur cats, this place is truly magical. 

One day, as the sun is still looking over the trees, a tired soldier finds the peculiar place you call home. It was like out of a soft and kind witch story. A flower-filled garden was the entrance to such a place, the birds chirping and two cats roaming by what welcomed him. It is as if the sweet creatures lured his wounded body into this side of the forest. 

It's a long walk before he can even get close to such a place. Simon walks with caution, gun steady as he approaches this place. His eyes were vigilant, looking over the vegetation, the windows and then the door. His body begs to sit down and he complies. He finds some tree, sits down and looks at his wounds. "Bloody hell, Simon. You fuckin' had to ruin this mission, you blood muppet," he curses himself and shakes his head.  

The second you see him, you can tell there is truly something wrong, no right-minded person comes to this part of the woods. Your cat looks up at you and you nod. As you approach him, something tells you to be cautious and you follow that feeling. 

All of a sudden, his body freezes and he is turned over. His eyes come in contact with yours. They are so beautiful, just like the nature that surrounds him and you. 

"Who must you be?" you ask him rather later after your eyes scanned his body. "...Soldier...I'm a soldier, and you are?" Simon's voice is deep and raspy. "I'm Y/N, I live here, what are you doing here?" He takes a moment to try to explain his situation, "..I stumbled through here, running away-"

"Oh god, you're bleeding-those damn farries," you take his hand and guide him into your home. It was always known to you that when you found this place, the farries that here long before you did, always tried to get you to help any and everything. You were too powerful, they weren't and since they were sneaky but helpful, you and them made such a good team when help was needed. 

His brow was bloody, and so was his cheek, arm and left thigh. What must someone do to earn this?

There is truly no evil in you, which is by some force, you stumbled upon a home like this. It's a perfect, secluded place and it even brings magical friends now and then. 

"Who did this to you?" you ask him gently, trying to not alarm him with a louder voice. "I...it's not important," he lies and you shake your head. "They seem superficial, except the leg, which one needs a lot of time to heal," you explain, not trying to push the previous subject. 

When you put on your special glasses, made by the kind fairies, you can see why such thigh injury would take time to heal. This man was not hurt by any human, any normal one that is. 

You run to your garden, urging to find red tulips. Your eyes turn a sage green colour before switching to a soft pink as the plant decays and you rush back in. "What's wrong?" Simon asks but you shush him up. "You stay seated, don't interrupt," you say, not trying to be gentle anymore. The mark of black magic was always noticeable to those with the special eyewear. 

A black with gold buttons cape comes flying from the nearby table and places itself around your shoulders, the hood so effortlessly falling on your head. You begin to whisper, calling for all help to turn the decayed flower into medicine to heal him. 

The room goes completely dark and silent and before he knew it, you had a bowl in your hand. 

You kneel in front of him, and he panics but before he can say a word, your cat walks to him, licks his hand and purrs. Your cat always knew best and calming Simon was a wise move. 

Simon sighs as he feels relief in the medicine you're applying. His wound finally became normal, the odd colour it had now gone. You stand up, "You mustn't leave, not until you are safe," you advise with caution. "Why not? what will happen if I leave?" he asks with fear in his voice. "Whoever did this is still out there, searching for the mark it left on you, now, whilst you're here, you mustn't leave this part of the forest," you tell him softer this time. 

He looks down, weighing his options. 

Once those sweet brown eyes of his lay back on you, you smile, knowing his answer. 

For nearly five months, Simon has it here with you. Adoring the days and nights when he doesn't feel like his life is at risk by some gun or bomb, all he looks out for is those fairies playing tricks again. 

With time, you and him enjoy the time you spend together. He tells you his life story under the willow tree by your home and you tell him yours. 

Nights become sweeter when he and you sit under the moon. "I like this place," he confesses and you smile. Truth be told, there is an odd feeling you've been getting each time he flashes you a smile. What must it be? No clue, you lie to yourself. 

Slowly, month six comes by and you've decided to enjoy all activities, not wanting to be the powerful witch you are but a woman in her twenties, enjoying the sun in the safest forest there is to be. Simon has become the person you roam the forest with, telling him silly stories of the animals you find along the way. Every day, he sits down in the leaf-covered room you call your laboratory and lets you inspect the dark magic wound. And every day, he watches you in a different light, at least now he does. 

With time, he sits under a full moon, confessing that his heart began to beat for more than the gun he held dear. "I think I have begun to enjoy you by my side, Y/N. It's weird, I don't know if I should like you or feel...different about you but I do like this feeling." He looks at you as your eyes soften. 

"Simon," you begin but he cuts you off. It's like a symphony that plays beside you when he cups your face. "I like that I'm not afraid of life, not since you walked into it," he whispers before nervously kissing you. Both your eyes closed as this warm and sweet feeling rushed through your veins. 

Isn't it beautiful? 

Being heaven-struck by the kiss of a soldier who he, himself always wanted that feeling too. Yeah...there is something else this forest holds. 

A/N: I don't why..but let me confess that each time I write something that isn't smutty, I get sleepy and its such a good feeling..anyway..bye

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[thelibrarian1895]

Who is Red Robin?

Basically anyone who wants to be honestly.

So, something for writers who have more skill than I possess, which means basically anyone with the ability to spell and even that is debatable, this is just a thought. It could be angsty if that's your preference though I see it more as a part of a possible crack fic.

I would like to suggest that Tim Drake is not particularly attached to the mantle of Red Robin. He'll use it since it's better than nothing (and certainly better than Drake) and because he's really, really, really not particularly disposed to the sort of introspection or self analyzation necessary to create an identity he actually cares about the way Batman named himself for fear or Nightwing because of I forget and don't particularly care except Superman was involved since it's supposed to be from some Kryptonian myth or Robin because of Mary Grayson and Robin Hood and connection to family or the Red Hood for REVENGE. Most of the Bats can all be just a tiny bit touchy at who gets to use their identity. Generally they do not share well at all. Exceptions can be made for extreme circumstances, like civilian identities at risk, but generally to use someone else's mask is to risk their ire.

This is not necessarily true for Tim when he is not Robin. Even when he was Robin, had things been communicated about clearly and calmly with maybe an alternative mask available, he likely would have been fine to share or even give up the Robin role. Sadly, clear communication is absolutely not something any of the Bats really excel in performing.

Anyway, the point is, Tim only cares about the name of his not Robin identity in order to maintain the whole secret identity thing. If someone else wants to use that particular name/costume when he isn't using it? As long as they aren't (further) ruining his reputation, he doesn't care and may actively encourage them to do so.

Cass has absolutely used the Red Robin identity no matter what canon may claim and I do believe that Tim has acted as Black Bat for her in return. The only reason is isn't acknowledged as canon is because both of them are too stealthy to be caught switching their costumes and no one has noticed.

As a bit of a joke, Kon has also used the Red Robin identity. So has Cassie, the cowl version because she didn't want to deal with a wig and did want to maintain some continuity. Bart liked the wings but dislikes the having to stuff his hair under control and so has only worn the costume once and not in battle. In a bit of an emergency situation, Cissie has also donned the Red Robin mantle. The may have been a strange turn of events where Klarion the Witch Boy tried out the identity.

Tim enjoys how much it can make Vicki Vale and other similar types of reporters froth at the mouth at Red Robin being so blatantly active while Tim Drake Wayne is right there at the head of a crowd. The only time Red Robin is ever actually caught in the act of being Red Robin is when someone who is not Tim, or Cass, is using the Red Robin mask.

[samarqqand]

Hello samarqqand, I love your Maedhros and Maglor fanfictions, I always reread them, I wonder if at some point you will write something about them again, your writing is beautiful and conveys what one feels, I also read one you wrote about Maglor and celegorm, I liked it a lot, there are times when it made me laugh celegorm, greetings.

wow, hello hello!! this is such a pleasant surprise of a message -- thank you so much for reading my fics and for this superbly-kind feedback :] <3 i'm so glad to know they resonated with you-!!

i have one very long Maedhros/Maglor wip, Amon Ereb and Kidnap Dads era -- as is typical of me, it stalled after i wrote myself into a corner and i've been kind of helplessly poking at it ever since, BUT there's more than enough written that i'm delighted to share a hefty snippet -- hopefully gives some idea of what Maedhros and Maglor are up to!! no warnings, except... blood. and blood... licking? tasting. (please excuse any errors in the snippet; it's a draft!!)

thank you very much again-!

*

“No,” Maglor murmurs, the sight of Maedhros donning a wolf fur mantle. Beyond him, the Star, there: past its perihelion it sails on a journey beyond, aloof to the two sons of Feanor. “No, it will not do. A hooded cloak for these climes, I say.”

“My eyes need no veiling,” Maedhros says.

Maglor curves a long, assessing look his way as Maedhros takes his rucksack. He looks beyond Maedhros’ starless eyes: obstinate. “I would remind you,” he clarifies as loftily as any erstwhile High King at Hithlum, “you are no icy tor.” 

He takes his long fingers to the mink at Maedhros’ collar to fluff up what he can. “Could a measure of warmth be so ruinous to you?” Maglor meddles: old, bad habit. Maedhros his bad habit.

“You haven’t recovered from exposure.”

Before Maglor can ask, his head turning hither-thither as if he might find an answer just beyond, show him, show him, Maedhros lifts his chin toward the stooped fortress town beyond the forbidding briarwood. Eyes naturalized to Beleriand’s bosky chaos, he assesses the ferns and woody roots flinging themselves into a silent fervor. It is too wild here for even the dead to lie in wait. “This way.”

Maedhros could sink himself into every grumbling corner, a simmer of potential energy waiting to surge, if not for Maglor’s hand tucked into the crook of his elbow, recognizing the instinct in Maedhros.

“Oh, but I do,” Maglor contends, swinging his rucksack over his shoulder and wending around the witch-hazel. “And it has compelled me afield, to attend to the honey yet untasted upon the lonely larder shelves; further, to reward our Elrond and Elros for their patience with our monotonous menu of lentils and warg. Lentils and warg. Lentils,” he sighs, "and warg."

“Selfless saint,” Maedhros mutters.

Maglor wants to be close to him. There is no other thing living in Beleriand to want this.

There is no other living thing closer to him than Maglor is now, a veiled smile and his eyes clear, still claiming Light.

Only a fool loves a knife.

Maglor looks. He tilts his head, marking the immethodical snarl of skin flayed and healed, a torn ear nearly looking Secondborn, and the adulterated raptor-yellow coloring his stare when the meager light angles against his irises just so — , the shrug of pauldroned shoulder down to unyielding hand upon the sword pommel. Maedhros in parts.

To live, Maedhros had left some things behind.

But Maglor regards him with whole attention, the same he’d reserve for a tapestry: a story the storyteller would know by heart. 

“Not there,” Maedhros grunts, abruptly. Maglor’s veiled smile dimples his cheeks even as he plays along, a cant of interested eyebrows. “Here.” Maedhros nods toward a trail through the witch hazel and bramble, walked by generations of deer into existence.

“No caltrops to be found,” Maglor supplies.

“Set your watch here.” Maglor parts his lips to protest, though his gaze is perilously soft. “I’ll find them.”

But Maglor ladders himself gingerly into the razorwire foliage. “We muddle through the thorns together,” he announces, the scion of the proud suffering effortless in his role. “I have borne my share of scrapes, Nelyo.”

Better than that, brother: Maglor has borne all his lashes beautifully.

Maedhros joins him in the thick.

Under Maedhros’ hand, an icy splash of lichen laces a stone before abruptly the blue-white erupts with a sunset-orange hue. There is iron in the soil. 

Maedhros halts: aware.

If he were to bore straight on into the wooded depths, hand shoveling past the leafy protests and boots squealing beyond the mud’s warning, the vines might well keep a mind of their own, of their master’s. They might well snap awake. They might ensnare an ankle. Hissing arsenic-green ropes rearing up only to drag him back down to the underworld. 

The rusted metal doors in the earth which he may well have only just escaped might be open and gulping already. 

Drop his broken parts down, down to his darklong origin. 

Welcome back to a prodigal thrall.

– But for Maglor’s scent again. A tap at his shoulder. 

Maglor, the only thing in this world wanting to touch him, is crouched and slotted close to Maedhros at the end of the tree tunnel. Just another step, and they’ll be out. He’ll be out.

With a fond and regretful reach, Maglor plucks a thorn from the palm of Maedhros’ hand, and watches where the skin has broken. A question shadows Maglor’s starry gaze and does not lift.

“It is still red,” Maedhros says. He means to jest. He means to reassure. To be rueful. To wonder for how much longer. 

He does not know what he means by it.

He can smell his own blood, and hear Maglor’s heart, in all its selfless heat.

Maglor guides Maedhros’ palm against his surcoat to wick away the fresh bloom of blood.

Insinuation of ribs caging all Maglor’s soft insides; plane of torso. 

And when Maglor sees the bleeding won’t stop, he brings Maedhros’ palm to his mouth, his lips lavishing comfort on skin. 

Plush of lower lip skims flesh – and then presses flush, as if to accept the edge of a cup. A soft ripple.

Maedhros’ palm feels.

– And then his palm returns to his blade’s pommel.

And Maglor turns away in a show of modesty, letting the arrival of deer on the path interrupt him from what he might do if they were given time.

But not before his tongue has darted out, daring to taste Maedhros at his lips.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Good afternoon! Can I request a fic with Claude Frollo x an albino!Fem!reader who is a very strict and prim aristocrat whom Frollo is madly in love with and is trying to win her over? thank you in advance!

My pale star

warning : kinda fluff, kiss, tiny comfort, implied obsession

Info : OMG I loveeee the concept of your request dear anon and the albino reader I had already an idea on what I want the outfit to look like. I really hope you like it and have fun reading ;)

cover by me

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the bells rang for morning mass, the metal clashed and the rich and poor rushed to the church to cleanse themselves of their sins, she was among the masses.

He had always seen her, his white flower, his star that stood out from the crowd and that he could only see at night when she shone so beautifully.

He himself on his horse, which rode like a shadow through the streets of Paris, made his way to the church, always sending his carriage. Snowball knew he had to gallop quickly to get there before the people arrived and the judge arrived.

He got off his horse in front of the wooden door and got there a minute before she did. In his hand was the mass-produced ring, which he put back into the kelien casket when he saw the carriage arrive from the dark wood.

The horses white as the clouds overhead, white as the moon and the stars, white and pale as his favorite. His darling, his love, she had him completely under her spell.

It had been like a witch ever since he had seen her when she had lifted her veil to wipe away the tears that seemed to be in her eyes like the stars ever since he had looked under the clothes of the fine veil it had been true for him she was the most beautiful thing on this planet, free from sin and taking him with her.

All she had to do was return his love and it would be perfect. Watching as the Kutcher brought the horses to a halt and the diner jumped from the back of the carriage and opened the door, the first thing he saw was her white gloves.

He had only ever seen the light-colored fabric except for one day, but it only added to her extraordinary beauty. The white dress with the reddish ruffles embroidered by hand.

The long sleeves and slippers and on her head the veil under the white hood which only gave a hint of what her hair might look like. ,,Greetings this morning, my lady, may the Lord have mercy on your soul," he greeted her as he dismounted his horse and walked over to her, luiefe saw that she only looked at him with her eyes and held her head high.

She was an aristocrat, her father owned several plantations and textile weavers, her mother died in childbirth and she was the only child who could dispose of her own money as she wished.

,,God bless you judge and this city" she said something for the first time one morning as she went to the statue of St. Mary and left him behind. Frollo knew breaking etiquette would be an insult to her and her family he had to do it differently he had to woo her.

His angel, his lovely star as he went to the rows of wood himself and said the prayer. But his eyes kept looking at her as she lowered her head, the veil covering her. But he had seen her pale reddish eyes under the embroidered fabric that hung over her face.

He wanted to understand what was "wrong" with her, that this sin was a punishment from God, which is why she always prayed. But what was sin to her was everything to him. He wanted her like the forbidden, desirable fruit of the apple tree.

The minutes passed, the sun rose over the city and the stained glass of the windows shone on her and he fell, looking at her in color instead of white.

He lit a candle, folded his hands, and felt the ring's box in the pocket of his robe before he watched her again as she slowly rose from her kneeling position, wiped the dust from her dress and walked to the exit.

Before the people came, the people of the normal lower population. ,,My lady please wait I have heard of the good news of your lord father's factory" he began and was pleased to see her pause and wait for him.

Her hands folded in front of her dress, she watched him as best he could see under the veil. ,,I had taken the liberty of contacting him...and asked for an invitation to hear your playing your harp," he explained, knowing that she played her harp in her family circles and among her closest confidants.

He couldn't quite tell if it was indignation or exasperation that flashed in her eyes as she stood to resume her posture as an aristocrat.

,,My lord father will make a decision in your favor, I presume. Please, if it is convenient for you Judge Frollo, come to my estate and I will play for you," she replied and was about to turn away from him when he brought a ,,Wait please" after her, she paused turning her head slightly and shaking her shoulders as he handed her the casket.

,,A gift as a token of my gratitude for your generosity," he said, smiling gently as her fingers brushed over her gloves, feeling her warmth for a moment before she tucked the small box into her long sleeves.

,,That...that's very kind of you Lord Frollo, thank you" she said quietly not full of conviction more like she was embarrassed as if this fire in him had caught her for a moment.

,,Please, for such a beautiful flower, it's the least you can do," he said as a matter of course and bowed slightly as she curtseyed and stepped out of the church first, the sun flashing as the wood was opened and disappearing again as it closed.

But Frollo stayed behind, knowing that he was one step closer to her heart, she was open, he had seen it, had felt its lovely warmth and fire. There was only one last thing to do that night and she would be his.

The evening couldn't come soon enough for him. The sun was slowly setting, bathing the city in gold, but he knew that once he visited her and listened to the sound of her harp, it was only a matter of time before he would use the ring he had given her.

Her apartment, though a little smaller than his own, was lined with magnificent stone, wood and statues, the entrance lined with pictures and books, and Frollo knew he would find her in the music room.

Knew as he walked through the front door that he would hear the sound of her unnaturally pale hands wiping the pages. Her singing soft and beguiling he felt his heart beat faster. He wanted her.

He wanted her when he saw that she had taken off her veil, her fingers were not covered by gloves and he saw the silver ring with a moonstone on it. ,,You're more beautiful than any star out there in the sky," he had flattered her for a moment, watching her stop crying as she turned her head away, not yet wanting to believe his words.

,,Please my lord enjoy the play...if my appearance disturbed you the Judge I can cover myself too" she said quietly almost whispering as if she was afraid that someone would hear them both. But he only shook his head in confusion as she stopped playing, rose from her seat and came to him.

,,Your look my pretty pale flower quite the opposite it's a pleasure to see you every day" he said and let his fingers run over her ring on her finger saw how she moved back to avoid the contact almost shco was too close.

But only almost, as it was true in the Bible Eve would give in to temptation and Adam would still love her more than anything. ,,Your body is my personal carnal pleasure...you are the most beautiful thing on this earth my love" he purred and his other hand brushed a white loose strand of hair behind her ear of her elaborate hairstyle.

He saw the shame in her reddish eyes at his words, but it was the shame that made her cheeks slightly flushed. ,,You-You don't know what you're saying, Frollo," she murmured, lowering her gaze to her dress, her fingers nervously playing with one of the bows.

But when he told her to look at him again, overcoming the last few moments between them, he felt it. He finally felt her warmth on his lips as he kissed her softly, holding her body gently with his hands.

Knowing that he had committed a sin for the first time but seeing that beautiful look of love in her face as she did not break away from him, her hands remained around his and something like devotion flashed in her eyes, the judge knew that his pale flower finally belonged to him forever until the last stars in the sky would fade away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@ria-coolgirl , @nunezs-stuff , @magmabayvi , @aliensthegreat

[magalidragon]

wolf and flame | a witchy Jonerys Orgasmic October 2023 fic | day 7: witching hour

Here we go, I managed to get it in just before Halloween! This is for @snowxstormworld Jonerys Orgasmic October 2023, day 7: witching hour! Enjoy!

He reached into his cloak and removed a heavy piece of parchment, pushing it towards her with his gloved hand. She took it, flipping it open and staring at the ruins inked into the weathered pages. It was a map. A map she had been looking for, for ages. Her violet eyes flicked up to meet his piercing blue ones. “You found it?” she murmured. “In a way,” he answered vaguely. She opened her mouth to speak when her nose wrinkled, an odd scent permeating through the smoke, sweat, and ale-scented smog of the pub. It was a scent she had only smelled once in her life. The worst day of it. Wolf Her lips curled in a snarl; in the Stormlands, Drogon screeched, turning northward immediately to be at her side. The fire sang in her blood and she turned her fingers up, curling them, drawing the candle flames near to her. Except…this had something to it. It was cloaked. The wolf was trying to hide. She cocked her head, her violet eyes almost black, staring at Davis. “There’s a wolf here.” Davos smirked. “I hear there’s one in the Kingswood. The local children tell stories. They don’t go there.” “Wolves can’t survive long out of the North.” They were her mortal enemies. The ones who helped murder her family. She scanned the pub, but saw nothing out of the ordinary, until she paused, her gaze landing on a black cloaked figure standing at the bar. She narrowed her eyes, tapping her fingers on the table, fire burning through her skin, dancing from fingertip to fingertip. The person at the bar was magical, but she couldn't put her finger on why. The figure turned, glancing her direction, and for a brief second, she saw a pale face, dark beard, and piercing set of gray eyes before the figure disappeared into a throng of people who had just entered the pub. She sat straighter, one hand disappearing the map into her cloak, the other flicking her hood further over her silver hair; she had been here too long. There were some who were beginning to notice. This might be neutral territory for the likes of her, but Targaryens did not survive long in Westeros and it was best she get a move on. Davos tapped his fingers to his lips, smiling vaguely. "You might want to canvass the Kingswood, search for this mysterious wolf. The children refer to him as the Big Bad Wolf." "Well they're children, they're stupid." He shrugged, as if to give her that point. She didn’t like the fact that the wolf scent had been so powerful, but also so fleeting. She also didn’t like the fact she couldn’t tell what sort of magic the black-cloaked figure held. It probably didn’t matter; this city was a transit point for anyone seeking access to the greater part of Westeros. She nodded to Davos, standing swiftly in one move. “Davos.” He smiled again. “Search the Kingswood. You might find…something useful.”

[grimmpheonix]

Untitled TF Fic about a Kobold Witch and her new Girlfriend.

Well, hi. This may seen really out of place for me but I thought I thought I should post this fic I made here.

Warnings: Bones I guess? Idk. Nothing really happens to warrant anything like this.

Now then, onto the show!

The warm glow of the golden hour illuminated the future which walked through the streets of Urba. She'd recently arrived here after meeting her partner and moving in with her. Aria went deeper into her hoodie as she walked among the bustling streets. She heard the conversations of passersby talking about their friends, their lives, their families...Aria's back had a chill sent through it. She power walked from one side of the street to the other and made it to a quaint little coffee shop just around the bend. Aria always tried to make sure to get her and her partner coffee whenever she had the chance. Even when they started out as a long distance couple, Aria would recommend coffee shops she heard good things about in their area and sent them money to try it for her. They always said they weren't a coffee person, but Aria knew from their mannerisms that they were fueled by pure, unrestricted caffeine and nothing else.

Aria walked into the coffee shop and instantly felt the warm air of the establishment; this caused her to lower her large coat's fluffy hood and reveal her face. She had a distinctive scar across the bridge of her nose. Other than that, she had Rosy Brown skin with such a noticeable rose colored blush. She walked awkwardly to the counter where a large manticore stood at the front desk. The manticore politely greeted the human as she ordered the coffee. In all honesty, she was a huge coffee nerd. She loved seeing others experiment with coffee as not just a beverage, but as an art form where the deep brown of the steaming liquid was a canvas. She'd never done it herself, but she longed to own a coffee shop one day. But as the only human in Urba, it'd be very tough. Aria started to list off her and her partner's orders, trying not to sound too pretentious. The manticore politely listened and, after a few minutes of delay, brought out the two orders. Aria paid for her order and almost immediately dashed out of there. Ordering was a pain for her. She always cared about how people would react if she said the wrong thing or stuttered too much.

She quickly powerwalked through the streets of Urba, seeing all manner of creatures joyously taking in the golden hour. She did not have time for this however, as she needed to get her coffee to her partner, stat. She quickly turned tight corners and ran from street to street, dashing past goblins and dragons on the way to their apartment. It took fifteen minutes flat to get from the coffee shop all the way to her partner's apartment at the other side of town. Aria jokingly thought about running competitively, until remembering her goal. Get the coffee to her partner.

She knocked on the gray door to their apartment. The door creaked open slowly before a big yellow eye with a brown slit for a pupil. It looked her up and down aggressively before Aria finally said, "Alright Orion, it's just me."

Orion slightly chuckled before opening the door fully to reveal the three foot, six and a half inch Kobold. Her scales were a deep purple with bright almost pink highlights. She wore a tank top and some short shorts which looked weirdly long on the tiny lizard girl. Over these, she wore a light yellow robe with embroidered stars along it's exterior. She welcomed her girlfriend into her apartment with a slight chuckle in her voice. "Arie! It's so great seeing you after a long day of alchemy. Please, step inside... *heheh*"

Aria did as the reptile told her to and stepped into the messy apartment. It smelled like a mix of chemicals, old clothing, and...vanilla extract? Trash was thrown about the main room except for a pile of trash, clothing, and other shiny objects in the corner of the room which Orion calls her horde. To the right of this is a small section with shelves loaded with chemicals and elixirs and a big cauldron in the middle, perfect for stirring up potions.

Aria wandered around the room, trying to avoid the trash, before coming to a counter and setting the two, still warm, coffees onto it. Orion's eyes lit up with excitement as she went over to see the coffee. She moved a chair to climb up onto the counter to examine the coffee. "Oh! You brought coffee! I guess I can finally taste that really fancy stuff you like so much, huh?"

Orion said, smirking slightly. "Yep...I-I guess you can now. I got you a Dark Chocolate Hazelnut Affagato stained with a bit of milk and topped off with some powdered sugar." Alia finished her sentence as Orion started violently sipping the coffee. Alia felt a bit embarrassed but continued, "D-Do you like the coffee?" Orion responded with many exclamations about how delicious and sweet the coffee was. Just as quickly as the coffee got there, Orion slurped up the last remaining bit of it before exclaiming, "That was amazing!!! It was so freaking tasty! you!!!"

Alia tried to get Orion to cut down on the applause but it would not cease. Orion paused before looking at Aria's coffee and asking, "Hey! What are you drinkin' ?" Aria picked up her coffee before responding, "Oh nothing, just a dark roast latte with some foam and some white chocolate sprinkled over it...really isn't that special..." Orion objected to that statement before jumping down from the counter as Aria began to drink her latte. "So...do anything fun?" Asked the Kobold, grabbing the ledge of the table to see her girlfriend. Aria sipped her latte before calmly denying. Orion then began to think for a second, which Aria could tell thanks to the sound of her tail slapping the floor which she always did when she thought. A wide grin displayed itself over the snout of the reptile before she exclaimed, "Wanna do some alchemy with me..?"

Aria looked a little confused at the prospect of doing alchemy and probed her about if it would be safe or if she needed to know anything before they tried to do any alchemy. Orion dismissed her concerns and told her that it was really easy once you're "in the groove." Aria questioned her about it but was already being dragged by the surprisingly strong Kobold to the cauldron. "Alright, let me teach you the basics of alchemy, or potion making if you want to use the actual terms." Orion tried to jump up to get to some vital potion ingredients but, being a short little Kobold, couldn't reach them. Aria sighed and grabbed a few of the chemicals before giving them to Orion. She decided to throw out all logic and threw the bottles of chemicals straight into the empty cauldron. Aria was about to ask a question before the cauldron bubbled to life and a swirling green liquid filled it. "Alright, for this I will need most of the stuff from that shelf."

She pointed towards the shelves and Aria grabbed the chemicals and very carefully poured them into the cauldron, which bubbled even more with each ingredient. Eventually, she opened a container that seemed to be filled with vanilla extract and poured it in. Orion looked slightly inquisitive at the sight of the extract and slapped her tail on the floor. As they did this, they talked about their interests and some new trashy shows that they should binge together. They laughed and laughed, and eventually the cauldron changed from a light green to a dark red, which signaled to Orion to start performing some spells.

Orion stood on a stepstool and started to chant some spells at the cauldron, causing it to spin faster and faster before her voice faded and the liquid slowed. "Alrighty! Well done my witch's apprentice," Aria wanted to protest but Orion continued, " but now you've officially made some Manticore Wine!" Aria looked a bit confused but eventually asked, "Is it because the potion is made of all types of different chemicals and stuff?" Orion's eyes lit up and she pointed her clawed finger at her girlfriend, "EXACTLY!"

Orion peered into the cauldron and observed the potion before looking at Aria excitedly, "Well? Aren't you going to drink it? It's only natural for the one who made the potion to take the first sip." Aria wanted to protest on how the potion could be dangerous, but the warm smile of her girlfriend caused her to fill up the empty coffee cup Orion left on the table with the Manticore Wine. She carefully and slowly raised the cup to her lips, fearing what could possibly happen when she drinks the concoction before the potion dripped into her mouth. It tasted nothing like wine, and instead had an overpowering vanilla taste which wasn't very appealing to Aria. She lowered the drink before going to put it on the counter, before something began to change in her.

It started in her legs, losing what little muscle and fat they had, causing Aria to fall to the ground. Orion tried to ask if she was okay, but all that was heard was the creaking of bones which began to break and elongate into something unrecognizable. Her arms and legs began to fill with thin hairs that quickly overtook her entire body except for her face, which is where the worst of it started. Her face began to waste away as she emitted an ear-piercing scream which was only stopped when her lower jaw fell from her face. Orion hid behind the counter and covered her ears, not bearing to look at what happened to her girlfriend, the only person who loved her. Meanwhile, Aria's life flashed before her eyes. Memories of the pain she experienced from her peers, the abuse she dealt with from her parents, and the one person who would listen to her which would lead to her end...or at least that's what she thought. Her skull morphed as shifted from that of a human to that of a deer and two giant antlers started to grow, which is something equally strange happened.

Aria stood up, taller than she was previously, before squishing back down, her flesh slowly returning in some part to her. Maybe too much flesh back in fact, as she seemed to gain a few pounds thanks to this. She was breathing heavily before looking at her hands, which were now hooves which slightly resembled functioning hands. She looked down to see her baggy hoodie which had been slightly torn from the transformation. She looked at herself before a noise caught her attention and she instinctively turned almost instantaneously towards the source.

She saw Orion cowering behind her staff, which she was really to use as a blunt force weapon if necessary. They locked eyes, Aria's now glowing bright green, and they matched each other's breathing. Aria covered what was left of her mouth before somehow saying, "Ori..?"Orion heard this and slightly faltered before Aria continued, "Ori...please...please put the stick down..." Orion shakingly put the staff down, dropping it onto the floor and near her tail if needed. "Ori...I'm...I'm fine...I'm not...dead..." Aria tried to raise her arms, which now had another joint in each, to Orion to show her that she did not mean any harm.

"Arie...what happened..?" Aria did not answer that, as she also did not know the answer, but she did take one step closer to Orion, who shuttered at the movement. She continued until she was right in front of Orion, before holding her arms out for a hug from her. Orion smirked and jumped into her arms, nearly crying in her now extended arms, "Don't do that to me again! Well...do you want to try and find an antidote..?"

Aria did not answer for a few seconds before breathing in and saying, "I...I think I like this better..." They embraced each other for a long while after that...

Another day, another run for coffee. Aria seemed to dash from street to street almost in the blink of an eye before appearing at the coffee shop at the end of the block. She entered, now with a very determined look on her skeletal face. She walked up to the cashier, "Hey sir! Could you get me a- "Dark Chocolate Hazelnut Stained Affagato and a Dark Roast Latte with foam and White Chocolate, right?" Aria was surprised to hear that in response, but nodded in agreement. "You two always order that...you really need to expand your palletes." "We have," Retorted the skeletal figure, "it's just that I make them at home now. We've been experimenting with new recipes."

The Manticore smiled, "I hope that goes well for you." After a few minutes, the coffees were out, Aria continued to dash from block to block, noticing all of the goblins and dragons and ghosts and ghouls who roam the streets of Urba. Aria finally felt glad to be one of them. She arrived at Orion's apartment in record time, knocking on the door. A familiar yellow eye with a brown slit for an iris appeared at the door."

Oh! You brought coffee!"

[foxgloveinspace]

witchy Sleep Token experiences? 👀 it's my new fixation

(Edit: sequel to this ask)

Hi there! I debated for awhile about answering this, just because some of it is still so weird to even think about, talking about it was an interesting experience in itself. But I’m gonna lol.

I wanna start off by saying I think most of it heightened adhd symptoms, and my own witchy-ness. I don’t really think Sleep Token as anything going on (except maybe Vessel has some withy knowledge.) I also wanna say that I am a baby witch. I don’t practice often and most of my practice is gathering knowledge. I don’t live in a safe place to practice more then that. I’m almost more of an herbalist, then anything else. I firmly am of the opinion that Sleep Token is about personal experiences told through Story/Made up scenarios. I also think all of this is the universe bopping me over the head with a paper towel roll like ‘these guys are important to you, have some witchy stuff with them’ cause it knows I’ll like that. But now I have some weird witchy experiences to talk about lmao. There’s little ones I’m leaving out, and all of this is real, even tho it sounds Fake As Fuck.

This one I think is heightened adhd symptoms and my own woo woo stuff. I have this smell that I have up my nose sometimes it either happens when I’m minding my own business, and I’ll smell a light floral scent which makes me go ‘oh sleep token?’ And I either have to stop what I’m doing and listen to them or just think about them for a moment. Or it happens when I think about them deeply for long periods of time. It was very strong when I was writing on of the fics I wrote, like someone has stuck flowers under my nose. It’s an unknown floral scent to me. But I’m chalking this one up to mostly my adhd (with a bit of witchy thrown in) as I have physical things that happen to me when it comes to other special interests. (I feel like I’m getting hugged when I read the end of AftG, ect). But it’s just weird in they way it happens, and how heightened it is and since I can’t place the smell if I find out it it’s the light scent of for-get-me-nots I’m gonna flip my lid lol.

This next one is the strangest one. I remember it very clearly and I still kinda get a little freaked out. The day that I first listened to The Summoning was not long after it came out, I remember finding it through instagram and all the people making jokes about how Sleep Token where insuring that metal heads where gonna have a great Valentine’s Day and babies in November. So I go over to my music app, and I start it up, and immediately I’m like ‘is this even the same song?? Idk I love it tho.’ And then of course it gets to the end and yeah it’s that song. Instantly in love with it and start playing it on repeat but decided I’d wait until I had more spoons to listen to the rest of their discography, and I never look at what bands look like anymore? I let go of looking into bands when I let go of kpop and of course I didn’t end up having the mental energy for looking into a new band until April when I became a changed person lmao. I remember this so clearly, it was a Saturday, I was out shopping late with my family, I was already overstimulated, and this happened in a run down Dollar Tree parking lot with overcast sky’s as it started getting dark out. I listened on repeat while we started heading home. I got a migraine on the way home, not a bad one, (and at the time I didn’t even know that’s what it was, I’ve only recently been like ‘oh I get migraines??’) and so I sat there with my eyes closed, and in the visual disturance/aura, I saw Vessel. And it’s still freaky to think about, I get slight chills up my spine. I don’t normally have figures in my auras, it’s usually just splotches of flashing green and purple. But in the middle of my vision, was a hooded man, and only the lower half of his face was visible and his eyes. It was…. Really fucking weird, and when I put two and two together I just kinda had to be still for awhile (I think I was doing the dishes??) yeah, that was the big one that I’ve had, and it sounds so fake, oof.

I think I’ll leave it there, I’ve had some other small ones that could be chalked up to adhd but I like to think of them as witchy. I might talk about them some other time tho.

[aparticularbandit]

A Sea Psalm for a Penitent Soul: Stanza One: Paved with Good Intentions

Chapter One: Blood

Fic Summary: When Agatha Harkness is barely ten years old, she witnesses the trial - and execution - of a woman who'd looked after her since she was a baby.  As accusations from outsiders fly and as Agatha struggles with controlling her own dark magic, the world she knows and depends on is ripped out from under her.

Chapter Rating: M for adult themes. Fic Rating: M for adult themes. TW: Blood; menstruation; combustion; mentions of child loss and spousal abuse

General Note and Content Warning DD;DNE - It only gets worse from here.

AO3

previous chapter

“Alice Baker, are you a witch?”

She shouldn’t be here.

Agatha stands, half-crouched, just on the outskirts of the coven circle, hidden in the thicket of trees.  She’s small for her age – only ten years old, but that’s double digits, so she should be allowed, even if she’s not really an adult yet – so she can hide easily enough in the bushes, just behind a tree.  It isn’t fair; she’s older than Agnes by months, but she gets to be at coven meetings.  All because of that stupid blood maneuver!  She should have tried it; it would’ve been simply enough to catch some from one of the chickens Prudence cooks for supper; it’s just avoiding Prudence that would be the problem—

Her teeth grit and grind together.  No more thinking about Agnes, even if she can make out her best friend standing just next to a taller figure who has to be her mother – it’s hard to make out faces from this far away, and she can only make out what her own mama is saying because she, Agnes, Nicholas, and Nathaniel have played this game hundreds of times.

Fake witches.  Fake trials.

The other children always think it’s a joke, and it is!  Mostly.  Everyone in Salem knows that witches are evil, so whoever’s on trial has to die.  But it’s always a game, so they fake dead and then get back up in seconds. No one really stays dead.  And it’s always a short little thing they can do between all of their other chores and....

Well, it sounds a bit like public confession, and while the adults don’t really like that they’re witches, they don’t mind too much, other than giving them a very, very strong look.

But by this point, Agatha knows the beginning by heart.  She’s her mama’s daughter, so she usually plays the coven head, usually accuses Agnes.  Sometimes they switch.  Sometimes they let Nathanial be the head for the fun of it, even though everyone knows that boys can’t be the head of the coven, no matter whose kid they are.  But it’s not like Agatha will ever be head.  Charity, her oldest sister, will, and if something happens to her, it’ll be Prudence.  They’ve probably heard this hundreds of times from her mama, but Agatha’s only heard bits and pieces.

And she wants to hear the rest of it!

Agatha tucks back the dark strands of hair that have pulled away from her messy braid, and she pushes through the long dying grasses, around the bushes, and as close to the circle as she can get.  The sudden throwing back of all the coven members’ hoods covers the sounds she’s making; as cautious as she is, she can’t be completely silent.  But they’re all distracted anyway, focusing on the slender whip of a girl standing at the stake, thick, interlocking wisps of blue light writhing around her wrists and holding her in place.

Alice Baker has been part of the Salem coven since before Agatha was even born. Hers isn’t the first face that Agatha remembers seeing, but it’s close to it.  She’d been the age Agatha is now then, with bright rosy cheeks and equally bright brown eyes that always twinkled with mischief.  She would tweak Agatha’s nose, and Agatha would bat at her fingers – bite them, sometimes, with sharp baby teeth – to stop her from doing it again.  Her mama would always tell her to quit biting; Alice would just give her a wink and say she didn’t mind, that Agatha was just acting like the animals did when she tweaked their noses.  Then her mama would say that Agatha wasn’t an animal, and that would be that.

Except when Alice would take young Agatha next to the bubbling brook to make sure she was bathed correctly, to make sure she didn’t drown, and then she would tickle her chubby cheeks and Agatha would bite fingertips, and Alice would laugh and laugh with those sharp pointed teeth of hers.

Alice was kind to Agatha, once.  Before she got married to Thomas Thorne.

Agatha thinks of him and shudders.

The waterfall thunders in the distance, loud enough to cover their voices from afar, loud enough to cover their voices from near, too, if Agatha doesn’t listen very carefully. She misses Alice’s vocal admittance, but she sees the witch’s head thrust back, chin tilted up, and she can imagine Alice’s bright brown eyes peering inquisitively down at her mama.

Of course, Agatha can see her mama clearest of all, straight across from Alice, with her two older sisters – Charity and Prudence – at her left and right hand.  Charity’s flat, dull brown hair looks drenched in the moonlight, but that’s as it always is; no matter how much she cleans it, it always ends up looking greasy and dirty.  Her hawkish nose peers out into the darkness, though Charity doesn’t look up at Alice, looks down at fingers clasped demurely in front of her, ruddy cheeks reddening from the torchlight on either side of her.  Prudence, on the other hand, gleams like a dying star.  Her thick black brows throw shadows over the softer curves of her face, which though beautiful in the light of day, now only make her look like a skull with a thick crop of black hair falling in waves about its sides. Even from this far away, Prudence’s green eyes glint in the flicker of the flames.

And her mama between them, staring up at Alice, ramrod straight, the light blue glimmer of her crown thin atop her greying hair.  Already, her mama is old, so much older than most of the town matrons. Even the Puritans – the real ones, not the fake ones they pretend to be to hide among them – look up to her mama as a fountain of wealth, even more so now that her stomach swells with what will hopefully be another little brother or sister for Agatha to play with.

Maybe this one will live.

She’d had another sister, once.  Younger than Charity and Prudence, but older than Nathaniel.  Not that she’d ever met her.  She’d died when Agatha was a baby.

By all accounts, Agatha should be dead, too, born in the frigid cold the way she was, right when everyone usually got so sick.  Babies born in the winter don’t live.  They die.  They—

“You have betrayed your coven,” her mother continues, voice soft over the thundering water, piercing eyes focused entirely on Alice.  “You practice the darkest of magic, and you murder—”

“I have murdered no one,” Alice interrupts, voice crystal clear, loud where her mama’s is so soft.  “I only defended myself against a vicious warlock—”

“—by draining him of his magic until he was nothing more than a mummified—”

“He would have done the same to me, and you would have done nothing to him.”

Agatha bites on her thumbnail, worries it, rips it a little too close to the quick, and winces, cringes, aches.  She stares at her thumb, catches the smallest bubbling of blood.  As Alice and her mama quip back and forth, she sticks her thumb between her lips, sucks the blood from it, and sneaks as carefully as she can around the outer edge of the circle, staying behind the trees. She’s seen her mom and sisters enough; she wants to see how Alice looks.  The bitter taste of copper fills her mouth, which is weird because normally ripping her thumbnail doesn’t cause her to bleed this much.  She pulls her thumb out, stares at it.  Just a drip welling up.  But the taste was so loud.

Every now and again, Agatha glances back to Alice.  The blonde witch has set her jaw, angled her head so that she leers down at her mama, and the shadows of the torchlight under the softer glow of the moonlight set Alice’s shape in sharp relief.  She’s gotten thinner since she lost her baby.  A lot thinner.  Agatha tugs her lip between her teeth and keeps creeping.

“What will you do to me, then?” Alice asks, her voice suddenly deceptively soft.  “For defending myself, what will you do?”

“There are ways to defend yourself without using dark magic,” Agatha’s sister, Prudence, suddenly snaps out.  “You could have—”  But she stops all at once, and Agatha pops her head up to see her mama placing a hand on Prudence’s wrist, giving a little shake of her head.

Agatha’s mama looks up at Alice, but Agatha has gone too far now to see her expression when she says, “You have endangered us, Alice.  Do you not have an answer for that?”

“I have endangered no one, and my defending myself, I have saved—”

“You broke the rules—” Prudence starts to shout out.

“They bent to my power!” Alice snaps out, glaring around at them.  In that moment, she wrenches forward, sharp teeth glistening in the light, held back only by the wisps of blue magic wrapped around her wrists. “You have no idea what it’s like, shackled to a warlock who cares nothing for you, who beats you for stepping an inch out of his plans, who chokes you near to death when your child—”  Her voice cuts off, chokes off, and turning to her now, Agatha can see that Alice’s head has lowered.  Light glistens off of her cheeks.  “I did what I had to do.”

Agatha’s mama shakes her head.  “No,” she murmurs, voice so soft that Agatha wouldn’t have been able to hear it if she’d been on the other side of the circle, “you did not.”  Her gaze never leaves Alice as she says, “You should have asked your sisters for help.  You should have told us—”

“And what would you have done?”  Alice sobs, chest heaving with breath.  “Nothing, nothing.”  She glances up again, meets Agatha’s mama’s eyes levelly.  “I did. what I had. to do.”

Her mama shakes her head again, slow.  “Dark magic is never what you have to do, Alice.  I’m sorry that we were not able to teach you that.”

At her mama’s words, the other members of the coven begin to chant in Latin. Agatha can just glimpse Agnes off to one side, staring up at her own mother, who gives her a little nod. Together, they raise their hands, palms out, towards Alice, just as the other coven members do, and all at once, beams of blue-tinged light rip out of their hands and pierce Alice’s skin.

The instant before they hit her, Alice glances up.  She catches Agatha’s eyes, and her own widen in horror.  Then the magic hits.  Her entire body glows from within.  She screams.  She screams. She—

Agatha wants to turn away.  She shouldn’t be here, she shouldn’t be seeing this, she shouldn’t be hearing this desperately low animalistic growling.  But no matter how much it makes her stomach turn, she can’t look away.  She’s fascinated, focused so entirely, so completely on the way light runs thick through Alice’s veins, turning her into a golden human lantern.  Of course, Alice sounds like she’s in pain, but she’s….

She’s beautiful.

This is a whole new side of magic Agatha has never seen.  It scares her.  It rejuvenates her.

For the briefest of moments, Alice’s moans stop.  She glances up, yells out, “Do not forget me,” and then lowers her head and stares directly at Agatha.  Purple magic circles the pits of her pupils.  She meets Agatha’s eyes.  Winks.

Combusts.

Agatha can’t stop herself – she gasps.  Immediately, she covers her mouth with her hands, but it’s too late.  Her mama glances over her shoulder, catches her. She doesn’t look the way she always does; her face is lined like old, worn out leather, and her face is an ashen, ashy white.  For once, her mama doesn’t chide her for being somewhere she shouldn’t be, but she doesn’t hold out an arm to draw her in either.

She just looks.

Quiet.

Somehow, that disconnected, apathetic, uncaring look from her mama – as though she has nothing to say to her at all – is the most terrifying part of the entire experience.

Something lower than Agatha’s stomach clenches, and she doubles over as blood begins to trickle down her legs.

“My daughter,” her mama murmurs in that same, soft-spoken voice, “you are one of us now.”  Now, she holds out a hand, staring at her with eyes dark with shadows.  “Come, and join your sisters.”

Agatha grits her teeth, swallows, and stumbles forward, dripping and in pain.

[centrumlumina]

multiples of six for the writing ask game!

For this ask game.

6. If you’re really concentrating, how many words can you write in a day?

I went and checked my old NaNoWriMo spreadsheets, and apparently one year I wrote over 8k on the first day.

That was way back in 2011 though, I think now I would probably say about 3k is my max, and that's only if I have nothing else to do that day, my spoons are good, and I'm feeling super inspired - which is sadly rare.

12. Is there a trope you haven’t written yet but really want to?

I have loads of part-complete or planned-but-not-started original fics, so I'll try to stick to fanfics... I do lowkey want to try writing a Locked Tomb fic set in the "marriage games" AU from Book 2, is that too specific?

More generally... I don't think I've ever written a bodyswap fic, that would be fun!

18. What is a line/scene you’re really proud of? Give us the DVD commentary for that scene.

I'm pretty proud of most of my writing, but recently my favourite thing has been Red In The Night. This is the emotional climax of the "Bet It All On Red" series I've been working on for months, so it had a lot of build-up over 9 preceding fics. I always knew that this point in the plot would be a confrontation where Jason revealed himself to Bruce and Tim officially declared his allegiance to Jason, but originally it was going to be (like the other fics up to this point) written from either Tim or Jason's POV.

Then a commenter mentioned that they were really interested to know what Alfred and Bruce were thinking after Tim's escape from the Manor. I had a chat with @cynassa about how Bruce is genuinely terrified for Tim, and to him Red Hood seems like a doppelganger trying to take everything Bruce loves away from him and replace him as Gotham's hero. At that point I knew that the confrontation had to be from Bruce's POV, and from the reaction I got in the comments I was dead on.

24. How did you come up with title for [x fic]?

(i messaged la and lu specified my "gender trinary" verse)

The name "Dismantle the Gender Trinary" came from my aims in the verse - to explore transness in the omegaverse, and challenge the weirdly gender-essentialist vibes that some a/b/o universes have. I have a lowkey love of creating fantasy-world feminist/activist slogans (my only experience of twitter was in-character for a fantasy larp as a campaigner for witch rights), and "Dismantle the Gender Trinary" is absolutely a pin that genderverse!virgil would wear.

The individual fics within the series are generally named pretty straightforwardly after the concept of the fic or a significant line spoken, with the exception of the "firsts" series (which are all named for which first they depict).

30. Tell us an idea for a longfic you want to write in the future.

I don't really have any longfic ideas currently - I've been vibing with the episodic thing for most of my Batfam fics, because it's much less pressure if I'm struggling to write the next part.

But I do have a semi-original story which might land on AO3 if I ever manage to finish it. It's very loosely inspired by Les Mis, specifically by "what would have happened if Eponine survived her wound after making the dramatic love confession?" (except all the characters are now queer af)

[fireolin]

3, 6, 17, & 29 for the AO3 wrapped ask?

Thank you so much for your ask, anon, which relates to this.

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

I've written only one fic this year, and it's ongoing: 'The Wishing Hunt', so it has to be that one. I'm enjoying the test of writing to a structure, with the events influenced by votes, rather than a pre-created outline. It's a chance to prove to myself I can still wing it and discover the story as I go, even though with other work I've written outlines in advance.

If I choose from my finished works (but not this years), I think I'm proudest of 'The Sea Torn Hearts', because I had an extremely clear idea for this fic before I started, which I fell in love with when it sprang into my head, and I felt confident enough to commit to it. I wrote it for a Hunter x Hunter Big Bang, to a word limit and in limited time. That was a challenge for me (it's demanding for many of us who do Big Bangs), and was the first time I'd written something that length to a deadline. As you might know, I'm a slow fic writer compared to many.

6. Favorite title you used:

For this year wrapped, I'd have to choose one of my chapter titles from The Wishing Hunt. I like 'The Orchard Lord' best, because if I didn't already know what it was about, the title would intrigue me. To me it sounds like a fairy tale character or something historical. Who would be a lord of an orchard? In what way would they be a lord? And I enjoyed writing about the actual character therein.

If I look at all my works, then the title 'Kiss Me Better', because it has multiple meanings for that fic :D

17. Your favorite character to write this year?

This year--it's so hard to choose, because I often enjoy the character whose point of view I'm writing in the most at any time. Right now, that's Gon Freecss. But, last month it was Killua Zoldyck. As far as other characters go, though, I really enjoyed writing the flawed character 'Rose', a sly incubus (who was the Lord of the Orchard in the chapter I mentioned above). (Some people asked if he was based on Hisoka, and I can see why, but he's not; he's actually based on myths about incubi and other lore I've absorbed about fae bargains and fae who are territorial or possessive.)

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

Because I haven't yet reread anything I've posted this year (I find rereading my own writing difficult) it's hard to pick a favourite line. But, I've pulled out a section I really enjoyed writing - the moment in The Wishing Hunt where Gon learns that Killua, his bodyguard, is fae. It's a dramatic moment, with more than one revelation, and full of consequences going forward. The quote, from Chapter 14, is under the Read More.

A pit opened in Gon’s stomach. “You were born with your magic. It wasn’t some gift they gave you, as a changeling. You must be as powerful as them. Why are you even here with me?”

“Because you hired me as your bodyguard.” Killua tugged his hood back up over his head, concealing his face in its shadows. “I’m sure your witch knew I was fae. She looked after you—you could have hired no one better suited for this job. But I’m not that powerful. My family took much of my magic away. Now, hush. We’ll talk after.”

“No more lies.” Gon flexed his wrist and stared away into the ferns. The hunt thundered overhead, a riot of sparkling motion, yet as he lay under Killua, it felt as distant as the stars. The truth should have been obvious, but he’d believed Killua’s excuses. ‘Culturally, I’m fae.’ It hurt like he’d been sliced open. He’d trusted Killua about his humanity, this most fundamental thing. His rain-spattered cheeks felt like they were steaming. “You must think I’m a fool.”

“You’re not a fool. I’m good at lying, exceptional at illusions.” Killua glanced up the slope. “Shit.” He lowered his face next to Gon’s ear. “I understand if we’re no longer friends. But please don’t move. My brother’s here. This Hunt is after me.” 

Thank you so much for asking, Anon. It's very kind of you! I hope you have a wonderful holiday season!

[aparticularbandit]

WOO WIP WEDNESDAY!

Things gonna be a little different today because in the middle of Danganronpa Rarepair Week, so I have a placeholder for those fics (so if I finish one I can go straight into the other). Those will be a 2-for-1 Special, because I won't be sharing from them! Feel free to specify which other project you want words in!

File Names:

Danganropa Rarepair Week Fics

Of A Light Hope rough

immortal witch riding hood

monaca towa fic

junko mikuru cofrontation 1

Snippet:

Mikuru mutters something so soft it might as well be under her breath, except that she would never mean anything mean or rude by what she’s saying.  (That’s the difference between soft and under her breath, after all.)  She knocks her feet together, and she doesn’t look up.

“Because, like, you can leave, you know.  Haruhi can be kind of a bitch.”

Mikuru gasps, and for a moment, just a moment, Junko’s certain that Yuki’s gaze flicks up, that when it returns to her book her eyes do not move.

She’s my bitch, Junko doesn’t say, but that doesn’t mean she gets to be yours, too.

“She’s…um.”  Mikuru’s eyes won’t meet Junko’s – which is fine, since Junko isn’t looking at her either.  But where Junko’s eyes are focused on her task (and where Junko is still taking in everything that’s happening around her), Mikuru’s just averting her eyes.  Uncomfortable.  Like always.  “She’s not a—”

Junko’s gaze flicks up, and Mikuru winces.

“Look, clearly you’re uncomfortable.”  Junko waves a hand in the air – or seems to, as she pulls her hand high to tug a thread tight.  “You don’t like the costumes, you don’t like the way Haruhi treats you, and worst of all, you don’t like me.”

Mikuru’s gaze snaps to Junko.  There are tears at the corner of her eyes.  “I didn’t say that!” “You act like it.”  Junko raises the thread to her teeth and bites it.  More fun than using scissors, anyway.  “You won’t even look at me half the time.  It’s really rude.”

WIP Wednesday Game

It’s WIP Wednesday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. I’ll be searching the reblogs to find people to send asks to!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

Requested/Friend event mentions under the cut! If you'd like to be pinged next week, let me know!

@fiore-della-valle @redbirdblogs @greenbergsays @idkfandomwhatever @luckyspike

@obaewankenope @mad-madam-m @anonymousdandelion @geometricfractal @prettybirdy979

@eriquin @aparticularbandit @madnessfromthemountains @makeroftherunes @1attheedge

@whimsicalmeerkat @kidsomeday @lizhly-writes @skyderman @adhdavinci

@owlbearwrites @anachronismstellar @anyctibius @rilannon @lazinesswrites

@zyrafowe-sny @dreaminghour @blue-eyedbeta @candyskiez @dreamerking27

@kalira @virgulesmith @i-want-delfeur @selkies-world @exceedinglygayotter

@oitreewrites @post-and-out @writingattheedge @qqaba @ykthefancyclamwiththepearlinside

@princescar @tigerdragon1001 @@agent-p-writes

[seirindono]

Mermaid/sirens and monster. Please

Also I don’t come empty handed. Prepare for a dozen fic recommendations (all of which I’m in love with) and a brief description. All of these are on Ao3

Roadside attraction by popatochisp. Dinner on the road where a scertain skeleton comes to visit. An underfell Papyrus fic that’s really good.

Your Friendly-Neighborhood Witch by earthvibes. Readers a witch, chaotic and doing work with Greek gods and also came across a skeleton who, upon their meeting, punched her in the face. It was Stretch

Skull Joke by Gotcha. This fic is purely just humor. Not much plot just the lazy brothers doing stand up comedy mentioning reader every once in a while. Had me laughing a lot and is really good.

Poor Little Meow Meow by Mystique. This- THIS! I’ve never liked killer before but hood damnit this does things to me. Killer interacts with a veterinarian MC who is clueless to the danger she’s in. They have kittens. Kittens. Adorable.

The Fulfilling Ordeal of Being Known by nighttimelights . It’s a one shot smut but, ah, Horrortale sans is a girl and I’m questioning me sexuality. It’s damn good and a spin off of a harem series by the same author.

Skeleton Sisters and the Architect. Whooooooooo damn this is good. Fluffy, humorous, probably never going to be updated but for what’s there it’s so good!!

Skeletons Sisters Meet the Landlady by her as well. It’s them again, shot but finished and great.

A Sea of Hope by Aylish91. Pirates and skelly reader. Axe is a simp, they’re out at sea, everything’s great except when it’s not and readers just trying to understand what the hell her body’s about.

To pray on the hunters by periodically_annoying. Pretty good haven’t read it in a while but nice.

Stolen Souls by RubyPasha. It’s a twist on the “reader gets transported to the dating sun with the skelly bros” trope. Except she’s not supposed to be there and it’s a real slow burn. She’s kinda just living her life and trying not to die but also becoming friends and she needs hugs. Lots of hugs.

A spider in a graveyard by the same author. Readers Spider-Man’s student, her versions of the brothers and villains. She fights them, gets sucked into another universe by the machine and stuff happens. What’s nice is it’s a harem but with versions I’ve never read about. Outerfell, farmswap, Lustfell and such.

Hey anon, good timing because I found some naga fics after the post from last time. I Was Going For A Walk One Day by YinYinChan (the Swapfell one, glad I didn't make it up haha). Also, Bear Traps and Snakes by A_Gorgeous_Hobgoblin. I haven't read it yet, though.

As for the mermaid/siren goods, I'll throw in a few names but I'm very much disappointed that you didn't choose my mafia selection sob. Er, some might be spicy… Haven't read them in a while and some I wasn't subscribed to. So, um, read the tags carefully, ok?

.The Mirror Bay Depths by lieleycat, ranger reader meets big scary sea monster husband(s) -I'm… quoting the tags- and fluff ensues

.Flotsam & Jetsam by potatochisp, drabble series, I recall it's pretty cute

.The Danger that Lurks Underwater, A Series of Sinister Drabbles, Cliffside (I made a fanart of it!) by AKA_Indulgence, no summary, just go read it and enjoy the ride

.Shells and Pearls by syst3m_of_3rr0rs and Cold Currents by JacketBones Oof, I… acutally don't remember much of these? But Reader is the siren here, so it's always good for a change.

.Sleepin' with the Fishes by Catsitta, because I'm not the only one willing to mix mobtale with absolutely any other AU.

---

Now, thanks for your selection, anon hehe. They sound like fun, and I actually recognize a few titles (Poor Little Meow Meow, A spider in a graveyard, A Sea of Hope) and names, like potatochisp and... um? @aylish91 ? ∑(°∀°) *slowly connecting the dots* Wait, we were mutuals all this time...??

[greensaplinggrace]

do you have any darklina fic recs?

I certainly have a few! But first I want to clarify that I don’t really read fic when I’m writing it, and since I have so many fics in the works right now, I haven’t really been reading a lot of fanfiction. So this list probably won’t be as extensive as it could be.

Here are some other great fic recommendation posts, however:

DARKLINA FIC RECS by @vicioux

DARKLINA FIC RECS // part ii by @vicioux

Darklina Ruling the World Together Fic Recs by @clubofthestarlesssaint

Tumblr Ficlets

Aleksander’s First Memory by @kestrafagnor

Fivan Talk About Darklina by @jomiddlemarch

a little light in the great, big dark by @valkyrhys

Alina tells Mal she’s with Aleksander by @lorsanbitch

Darklina week day 5: intimacy & touch by @starlesscne

AO3 Fanfiction

if it ain’t me by larry_hystereks (Incomplete - 10/13 Chapters)

alina’s in her second year at Yale when she meets aleksander at one of his frat parties.

a hookup with the potential for more, only if alina wasn’t still struggling to piece herself together from last year’s breakup.

or: alina, zoya, their trust issues, and the men that fall for them

---

I’m only at about chapter 6 of this fic currently, but so far it’s one of my all time favorite Modern AUs. The characterization for Alina and Aleksander is incredibly well done, and the entire fic itself is so feminist and queer in such a refreshing way. Aleksander and Alina are bisexual as fuck, both with their own separate complex lives, and much of Alina’s own traumas and relationships are explored outside of Aleksander.

There’s some Zoyalina, with Nikolina friendship and endgame Zoyalai. There’s some mystery and some tension, but nothing too extreme, and a lot of the fic is merely an exploration in growth and overcoming one’s history and learning how to move on in healthy ways. I love it.

She Wears a Collar (With My Name) by Ceris_Malfoy (Complete)

She is immortal, and whatever lingering hints of humanity she may have once had have long been bleached from her heart.

I will grant you one wish, boy, if it is in my power to do so. What does a Shadow Smith most want?

"You," he answers.

Written for Darklina Week 2021 - Day 2: Role Reversal

---

This piece is just exquisite. This author’s writing style is one that I particularly enjoy. Their stuff is always so uniquely composed and crafted, and this one especially is a work of art. The way Darklina as a relationship is portrayed in particular is fascinating to me because it’s a role reversal but it’s still so complex. Aleksander’s character is nailed.

the bright sun was extinguish’d by athousandwinds (Complete)

Somewhere, deep in the dark forests of Ravka, a boy grows up on stories of Sankta Alina of the Wastes, the Sun-Scorched Saint.

---

This fic is just straight up magnificent. It’s so engaging and I love love love the way a role reversed Aleksander who joins the army is portrayed. He reminds me so much of Demon in the Woods Aleksander, as if he’s exactly what a grown version of that young boy would be. When I say I adore his characterization in this I’m not lying.

If I wanted any completed fic I’ve read to have a second chapter, it would be this one.

Winter in the Little Palace by redisxwing (Complete)

Written for Yuletide 2020.

Baghra and Alina's wildly different perspectives on the Darkling, and how things could have gone if nobody listened to Baghra.

Warning: Baghra is written as a harsh and arguably abusive parent, and this is darkfic about that relationship, with a side of shipping. Everything is terrible (except the parts that are pretty much okay).

Canon divergence pretty much as soon as Alina gets lessons in summoning.

This fic is likely not compatible with King of Scars (or any subsequent work).

---

As is said in the summary, this one makes Baghra a bit more extreme. If you’re a fan of Baghra, this fic probably isn’t for you. But since I’m not a fan of Baghra, I had no problems with it.

My biggest praise for this fic is in regards to the character interactions and the POVs. There’s a brilliant grasp of unique perspective and how to convey it, and that talent is carried over into the way character interactions are brought to life in the text. Also, there’s a scene where Alina gets kind of protective of the Darkling, which is one of my biggest weaknesses when it comes to Darklina.

Good Ideas by FelixRivers (Complete)

Alina Starkov had a very good idea. Aleksander Morozova would definitely agree. (or: Alina wants to go camping and Aleksander won't complain)

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This fic is just straight up adorable and hilarious. They’re such a cute couple and Alina’s POV is great. It’s just pure fluff and humor 💕

I’m not a bad girl, but I do bad things with you by SanktaJenya - @sankta-arya (Complete)

Winter had been hard on Old Baghra and Ana Kuya was worried about her, so she decided that Alina should make the trip to her cottage on the other side of the woods to bring her some food and kvas. On her way there, Alina meets a stranger...

Darklina Red Riding Hood/Company of Wolves AU

Darklina Week, Day 4, Fairytales

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This fic has a splendid grasp of tension and atmosphere. It’s very enchanting and dark and intriguing, and it nails those aspects with absolute precision. I love the style and the way the fairytale is incorporated into the narrative. It’s truly a masterpiece.

The Wretched by @aceofnowhere (Complete)

“We are strangers, but I want to help.” He growls at her, mocking and mistrustful. “I understand,” she said. “You think I am one of them. I certainly look like one of them. But I want to help you. Will you let me?” Prompt: fairytale. Alina saves a dragon.

---

Okay so I’ve mentioned this one before as one of my Top 5 fics of all time and I still stand by that. I can’t even describe why I love this fic so much except that the pacing is amazing and the prose is stunning and the story is beautiful. Aleksander is a dragon and Alina is a witch, and their relationship is just so...interesting and fascinating and lovely. I would literally kill for this fic. There’s such a softness to it as well. Such a tenderness. Idk, I just really love it.

Show Me Who You Are (I Want To Know) by Ceris_Malfoy (Incomplete - 12/?)

Alina takes her future in her own hands and makes her own decisions.

---

This is a great “what if Alina had stuck around after the reveal” rewrite. It doesn’t have Mal bashing and in fact still writes them as close friends, which is something I’m fond of in Darklina fics. Aleksander is allowed to be soft and Alina is allowed to be powerful, and I really enjoyed the take on their dynamics as a power couple wherein Alina is given a lot of control.

There’s something to be said for the way Aleksander is written in the scenes where he must be honest and earnest with Alina. I really enjoy the way they both come to equal ground, and I’m even more fond of the way Alina is allowed to grow darker without losing her light. She also engages a lot with quite a few other characters, developing tons of friendships and alliances on her own that help strengthen her as an individual character.

on this bridge between starshine and clay by @rhea-imagined (Complete)

"His breath narrows for a moment, his fist clenched tight before he forces himself to loosen it. She is his only opportunity for salvation, but vulnerability is not a cape he wears easily. “In those days, there was less prejudice against Shadow Summoners. But everyone fears the dark, in one way or another.” He does not look at her as he waits for the penny to drop, half-hoping it stays suspended in the air."

In which Alexander comes clean to Alina and tells her about his true identity in hopes that this will help convince her to take down the Fold.

A rewrite of the fountain scene in episode four, with a good!Darkling that is trying to make amends.

---

This is my all-time favorite good!Aleksander AU. He’s kept in character despite the major changes made to his motivations, and Alina is given a lot more agency in her own story. It’s the first fic in what might become a series, but it can stand alone beautifully.

I love how Aleksander and Alina’s relationship is allowed to grow tense without breaking, and how it’s a clear sign of change but not abandonment. I love how both characters are able to think for themselves and become self-aware and are given the chance to think critically. I love the character interaction so much because it’s honest and fresh and engaging. Everything from the smallest action to the most off-hand thought is in character and meaningful and incorporated with an amazing style of writing. It’s a very refreshing piece, and the writing only makes it that much better.

Bunnies of a Feather Stitch Together by Ill_Ratte (Complete)

"Just as Alina called to the light, gathering and twisting it into a ball in her hands, the door swung open.

Kirigan blacked out the door frame. His appearance enough would have surprised Alina, but there was something clutched in his arm, something dark and floppy. It almost looked like the stuffed toys that had been passed around to the younger Orphans." - Alina and The Darkling bond over a love of soft things

---

Soft stuffed animal shenanigans. Bits of trans!Aleksander, which I’m very fond of, as well as just a lot of fluff with a bit of something bittersweet and sad in a good way.

Half Lie by Ill_Ratte (Complete)

"Baghra always talked of the demon that had stolen her daughter." Or, Alina learns the hard way that the Darkling isn't the only one who deals in half-truths

---

This one is trans!Aleksander, and it handles it in a very interesting way. It’s quite sad, and deals a lot with Baghra & Aleksander’s relationship through Alina’s POV. I want to give a warning for transphobia, because it does center around that a lot as the premise, but it really is worth the read if that isn’t a trigger for you. This is one of my favorite trans!Aleksander fics, and the way it handles emotion and grief and pain is quite extraordinary.

The CEO and Helioseismologist by mrthology (Complete)

Aleksander Morozova doesn't get sick. He's the CEO of one of the most successful companies in the world, one that he had built from the ground up with blood, sweat, and tears. He exercised daily (usually), maintained a healthy diet, and kept himself fit.

He wasn’t sick.

Too bad no one believed him. And too bad Genya decided to call Ivan to take him home before also calling Alina to take care of him.

Maybe, just maybe, being sick wasn't so bad. Especially not when he has such a wonderful girlfriend.

---

Both of the fics in this series are great, but I love this one in particular because I’m an absolute sucker for hurt/comfort. Anyone who’s been on my blog for a while knows that it’s my all time favorite trope to read, and this fic fits the hurt/comfort trope to a T in the best of ways. It’s very tender and in character, and Aleksander and Alina are so soft with each other. It’s adorable and really makes you feel for Aleksander, and the caretaking is done perfectly.

All the different layers of dark (thousand little suns) by Anuna (Complete)

One month after the Winter Fete, Aleksander returns to the Little Palace, and Alina has been missing him.

Or

Episode five canon divergence in which Alina had never left Os Alta.

---

This one is soft emotional hurt/comfort smut. They’re both so open and vulnerable with each other, and it’s so beautiful to read. I love the writing style and the emotion in this one. It makes my heart ache in the best way.

An Honourable Man by liviy695 (Complete)

A reimagining of the scene after the winter fete. Alina catches a glimpse of a caring Darkling after he returns from integrating the Conductor. Plus, no Baghra interference.

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This one is what it says on the tin, in that Baghra doesn’t interfere and they’re allowed to talk after the Darkling interrogates the Conductor. But more than that, it’s a great imagining of how a scene where Aleksander reveals Marie’s death would have gone. There’s a sort of quiet to it that I appreciate, with grief and solemnity weighed against care and vulnerability.

I see the real you (even if you don’t, I do) by Anonymous (Incomplete - 8/?)

A series of questionable decisions lead Alina to meet the Black General a bit earlier. Butterfly effect ensues.

---

I’ve only read half so far (I hadn’t realized it had updated!! 👀👀) but I’m already in love with this fic. Alina’s dialogue and perspective is perfect, her relationship with Mal and the other cartographers is great, and I really enjoy how much personality she has. Aleksander is so smitten, but more than that, his characterization is soft but not weak. It feels almost as if he’s swept up by Alina, instead of the other way around, and I quite like that.

Of parenting by Anuna (Complete)

Alina finds out how her husband handled yet another parenting situation.

---

This is pure adorable Darklina parenting fluff and I live for it. Yet it doesn’t lack depth and in fact explored Alina and Aleksander’s relationship with parenting quite well.

i have a longing by LRCee - @ladylyannastark (Complete)

“So, Alina Starkov, risk-taker, how did you end up being editing’s newest wunderkind?”

Alina Starkov is rising in the publishing world. Singlehandedly responsible for editing (see: rewriting) the hottest book of the year, she lands a coveted spot at Morovoz Publishers. It's the position she's always wanted, at the biggest publishing house in the country. Life is perfect. That crush on her boss though, that's gotta go.

---

OKAY! I LOVE THIS ONE SO MUCH!! Let me tell you, as someone who is not too fond of Boss/Employee dynamics, I was very wary going into this fic. But boy did it deliver in a way that was perfect for me.

The relationship that develops between Aleksander and Alina is complex but healthy, and it never feels as if there’s too much of a power imbalance or anything that would make Alina feel forced or unhappy. The tension lies purely in how she fears others will perceive her, and not in how unhealthy her relationship with Aleksander is. For somebody who’s often attracted to unhealthy ships, I have to say that my favorite fics are usually ones that don’t have that type of dynamic between the characters. This fic delivers on that.

Also, Aleksander’s POV surrounding his struggle with his Russian heritage and his feelings for Alina is amazing, and has some of the best writing and characterization I’ve seen.

You receive: an evil demon; I receive: human souls by @aceofnowhere (Complete)

The next morning while she tried to tell herself it was a dream, that of course there wasn’t a fucking demon in her house, she found a note taped to her fridge.

“You might eat this shit,” it had written, “but I would like some fucking souls please.”

Darkling Week Prompt 7: free choice. Alina has a demon in her house.

This is absolute crack, and I have no idea what the fuck is wrong with me.

---

May I just say that this is the most fun I’ve ever had when reading a fic. It’s interesting with a bit of mystery, and Aleksander as a little shit of a demon is hilarious. Alina in this fic is great too. It’s such a unique take on her POV, especially when you reread it after knowing the ending. 10000/10, this fic is brilliant in every way and I love it.

I had been lost to you, Sunlight by BrytteMystere (Complete)

A Girl became a Woman, became a Sankta, became a Goddess.

Or: An Immortal Alina calls upon merzost to reunite with the Prince of Shadows she lost long ago. She may have lost herself in the process.

But then again, maybe time and endless wars did that instead.

---

You really just have to read this one to get it. It is utterly haunting and fascinating in the best of ways. The writing style is strange and novel and fits so well with the story being told. The composition of the fic as a whole is genius.

I Look Inside Myself (And See My Heart Is Black) by Ceris_Malfoy (Complete)

"When is a monster not a monster? Why, when you love it, of course."

Written for Darklina Week 2021 - Day 6: Favorite Quote • King & Queen • Monster

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Once more, this author comes through with an absolutely breathtaking writing style and story. The imagery is elegant yet brutal, simultaneously horrifying and glorious. There’s a certain way these stories are written, like fairytales, where the beautiful becomes the macabre and becomes ever more stunning because of it. It’s very dark but in a good way - an almost bewitching way.

Afterlife by @aceofnowhere (Complete)

“You are asking me to leave?”

“Not asking, shadow,” she said. “Telling. Time to get unlost, loser.”

Day 3 Darklina Week prompt: Modern AU (I mean, barely)

Alina expels ghosts from purgatory.

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@aceofnowhere once again bringing the best of the paranormal to the Grishaverse. Literally everything you write is amazing idk why I’m even pointing out individual fics when I could just rec your whole page. But anyways!! This is fun and interesting and Alina is a badass. Aleksander is, of course, compelling and dark and kind of a little shit, and it’s all incorporated seamlessly into an existential paranormal narrative.

Once Upon a Shooting Star by Ceris_Malfoy (Complete)

"But most of all, she was drawn to a vast darkness that reached out above all of them, a void so hungry for companionship that she knew she could fulfill."

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Let. Alina. Be. Feral!! Anyways, I clearly have a type when it comes to storytelling, and it’s whatever the fuck this person has got going on. Feral!Star!Alina is literally the light of my life. Her interactions with not only other people but the world in general are so well done, but my favorite parts about this fic are the numerous ways her relationship with Aleksander is described and depicted.

I love the dark and light imagery, especially with how it’s portrayed as them filling in the gaps of each other’s lives and supporting each other instead of trying to block each other out. There’s such clear passion and joy and love and devotion between them. The central focus of this fic is on her and Aleksander’s relationship, the interplay between them and their powers and the way her light fills his loneliness, the passing of adoration and trust and reliance between them. It’s very beautiful and I love it.

A Blaze of Light by Keira_63 (Complete)

They discover the Sun Summoner in the burnt-out remains of the Shu laboratory in which she has spent the last seven years of her life.

Or, the Darkling finds himself with a Sun Summoner whose greatest wish is to burn Shu Han to the ground. He is happy to oblige her.

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👀👀 Badass Alina and Badass Aleksander. The ultimate power couple, and Alina burning a path through Shu Han before they both burn a path through the world together. The darkness and rage in this one are handled very well, and the way that rage turns to coldness and then resolve is done so well. This fic is very cathartic and also very furious, and reading it is certainly a trip down emotion lane.

One more for the Road by Rist (Complete)

He returns to the war room shaken, and finds an Alina that cannot leave without at least having tried.

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This one hurts so much but its soooo gooood!!! Very smutty but also very tender and very bittersweet. Sad and soft all at once. I just... love the way Alina and Aleksander are written so much, and Alina’s complicated feelings for him are explored in such detail and depth. This one is truly worth the read.